Other Paths Taken: Emergence
by Cadsuane
Summary: Sequel to the Divergence and Convergence stories.  Part 3 of 5 in the series. Set a few years after Convergence, this story continues the story of Alistair and Breonna.  Rated "M".
1. Chapter 1

And so begins Part 3 of the Other Paths Taken series. Like the previous parts, we start out rated "T" and will move to "M" when the smut happens. I do believe we'll be seeing sexytimes before the last chapter of this part. Hooray!

This story picks up about three years after Part 2. Reviews are greatly appreciated, like always. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One**

Being as quiet as he could, Alistair eased the bedroom door closed carefully. He had already tugged his boots and tunic off in the sitting room, and if he avoided making too much noise, Breonna would never know what time he had gotten back. The room was dark, and he relied on memory to keep from tripping on furniture or the plush rugs scattered across the floor.

Finally making it to the bed, he pulled the covers back carefully and got in. He settled back with a small sigh. Success!

"You were out late."

Starting slightly, Alistair bit back a curse. Okay, not a success. The dim shape of his wife's form curled beneath the bedclothes was barely visible as he turned on his side to face her. An outstretched hand encountered her back and he drew himself closer so he could slip his arms around her.

"I was. I sort of lost track of time tonight. Can you ever forgive me?" he teased. He didn't go out the taverns very often, maybe once every few months. He'd asked Breonna to go with him a few times, but she'd always said no. She was never quite comfortable among the masses, not like he was. So when he did go, he was always careful, never staying out too late. Tonight was the latest he had ever been out.

"Maybe. I just really wanted you here tonight."

"Oh? Is something wrong, Bre?"

"No…. I…I just…. I'm tired, Alistair. I just wanted you with me tonight."

Alistair frowned into the darkness. She did sound tired. Weary, even. She'd fallen ill with an autumn cold few weeks ago, and while she said she was well again, his wife was a stubborn woman. She hated admitting weakness and was sometimes very good at concealing things.

"Bre, are you all right?" No answer. "Bre?" A note of warning crept into his voice. "I want the truth. Are you okay?"

"I don't feel so good," she said quietly. "I'm tired all the time. I can't…I can't seem to catch up. I just want to sleep."

"You said you were feeling better."

"I was, for a bit," she said in a small voice. "But then I started to feel odd again and didn't want to say anything."

"Damn it all, Bre, don't do that!" He pulled her flush against him. "You don't always have to be strong. If something's not right, you need to tell me."

"I know. I just hate feeling this way. I can't seem to shake it and I didn't want you to worry."

Stubborn, indeed. "I _like_ worrying about you, Bre. It makes me feel useful. Don't hide these things from me." He sighed in exasperation. "We're cancelling all appointments for the next few days and you're going to take it easy."

She shifted slightly, half-turning against him. "Alistair, you can't do that."

"Watch me."

"We have responsibilities. We can't just put them on hold because I'm feeling a little under the weather."

"And Ferelden is not going to fall apart because we don't sit in boring meetings for a week. I'm not asking you, Bre, I'm telling you. And I'm the king, so what I say goes. So there."

Breonna gave a small huff of laughter and he felt her relax a bit. It wasn't that she was opposed to taking breaks or time off, but her sense of responsibility made her hesitant to do so. One of the things he considered a personal duty was making sure she stopped and took some time for herself every so often.

"And," he added, "I'm sending someone to Amaranthine in the morning. I want Anders to take a look at you."

"What? Alistair, no." She fully turned in his embrace. "You can't do that. He's the best healer Anora has."

"Which is exactly why I want _him_ here. Amaranthine's only a couple days away. Anora can spare him for a week or so. Don't argue this with me, Bre, or I'm going to have to pull rank. I'll just say it's a Grey Warden matter and you'll have absolutely no say in it." He dropped a light kiss onto her temple. "Go to sleep, love. I'll be right here."

She nodded and murmured something sleepily, settling into his arms. He ran his fingers through her hair and across her scalp, scratching lightly. That always soothed her and within minutes her breathing was deep and even. In the darkness, Alistair held her, worrying. When he touched her forehead, her skin was cool, not flushed with fever. Her breathing was easy, unlabored. For all appearances, she was fine, but he was no healer. He had no idea what the trouble might be, and he couldn't stop the uncertainty from gnawing at him.

Sleep was a long time in coming.

* * *

When morning came, Alistair slipped out of bed without waking Breonna. Normally an early riser, the fact that Breonna was still sleeping soundly spoke volumes about just how tired she was. He pulled on a fresh set of clothes and left their rooms to write the note to Anora and Anders.

Erlina knocked while he was writing, and he waved her in.

"Is her Majesty still in bed?"

"She was when I left. Have a seat Erlina. Let me finish this and then I'd like to talk to you."

"Of course, your Majesty."

Erlina dropped daintily into one the chairs and smoothed her skirts as Alistair finished the short note. He didn't think Anora would deny the request, but he did make sure to ask, politely, instead of simply ordering Anders to Denerim. Setting it off to the side so the ink could dry, he turned to his wife's handmaiden.

"I realize I'm not the most observant man, but did _you_ realize she was still sick? And if so, why didn't you mention it?"

Erlina frowned, a small crease forming between her brows. "I did not know she was still actually sick, no. I merely thought it was taking her longer to recover. As to why I said nothing…." The elf spread her hands. "She hides weakness well. You are her husband. I would have expected her to tell you before anyone else."

Now it was Alistair's turn to frown as he drummed his fingers on his desk. "Sounds like her," he muttered. He leaned back with a sigh. "All right. What I want you to do, for now, is keep her in bed. Make sure she gets some breakfast and is comfortable. I'm going to take care of some things, so I'll be around. If she refuses to stay in bed and tries to get up, come get me."

"Yes, your Majesty." A small smile hovered on Erlina's lips and Alistair exchanged an amused look with her. They both knew how headstrong Breonna could be at times. She disliked inactivity with a passion and the next few days of bed rest Alistair was going to impose would irritate her.

"And don't take anything she says too seriously if she gets mad at you for doing your job."

At that, Erlina's smile widened. "I have served my lady for ten years, your Majesty. I've learned to read her moods quite well and know when not to take something to heart."

Alistair grinned back for a moment before his smile faded. "Have you seen this from her before, Erlina?" he asked seriously. "You've been closer to her for more than twice as long as I've known her. Has this happened before?"

She looked distant for a moment, thinking. "No, not that I can remember, your Majesty. She's had illnesses like everyone else, but this is new."

He nodded. "Just checking." Picking up the note, he saw the ink was dry. As he opened a draw to remove his seal and wax, he said. "I'll get this sent off and let you get back to Breonna." He paused in the act of folding the note so he could seal it. "Thank you, Erlina, for taking care of her."

"No need to thank me, your Majesty. She is dear to me as well. We all care for her." She dipped a quick curtsy and let herself out of the office. Alistair finished with the letter and gave the wax a few more moments to dry before arranging for it to be sent to Amaranthine.

When that was done, he stood looking out the window for a bit. He didn't know whether this was a good thing or not. On one hand, no lingering illness was ever good. It indicated a deeper, more complicated problem than a cold or flu. Although, Breonna had said that she had felt better and then started feeling poorly again. Could she just have come down with something else. But Breonna had never been ill twice in quick succession like this before. That would seem to rule out a recurring problem or some sort of inherent weakness. Maybe this was just a fluke, a rare occurrence that was bound to happen eventually to everyone? He ran a hand through his hair a few times and then rubbed his forehead. He was going to run himself to distraction thinking about a problem he didn't understand or know how to fix.

All he could do was wait for Anders to show up and hope he could find answers. Or better yet, solve the problem. Until then, he would have to try and not obsess over it. Outside the window, the sun shone brightly on a crisp fall day. Alistair hoped the weather would hold, as it would allow his messenger and Anders to travel faster.

With one last sigh, he turned away and set about clearing their calendar for the next week or so.

* * *

A guard came to get him around mid-morning the fifth day after he sent for Anders. Alistair went to greet the mage personally. Anders was dismounting in the courtyard, along with the messenger and couple of younger Wardens Alistair didn't know. They turned as the king approached, bowing. Anders, however, busied himself shaking out his robes and frowning.

"Wrinkled! Ugh, and these were so neat this morning." He glared at his horse. "I don't see what's supposed to be so great about these beasts. I'd much prefer to take a carriage."

"You could always ride side-saddle," Alistair quipped.

"Haha. Very funny. Yes, let's all make fun of the mage and his pretty dresses! It's not like I don't already hear enough of that from Oghren."

"Sorry."

Anders waved him off. "No, it's all right. If I'm going to complain about my 'pretty dresses' being wrinkled, I probably shouldn't be too upset when people call me on it." Taking his pack from one of the other Wardens, he slung it over his shoulder and turned towards Alistair. "Lead on, your Majesty."

"You're all set? You don't need to rest or do anything first?"

Shaking his head, Anders walked up the steps beside Alistair. "No. We stopped earlier last night so I could make sure I was ready when I got here. Otherwise we'd have been here last night, but I would have been tired and cranky and not much use to you."

The two men went into the palace and continued through the hallways. "So," Anders said as they walked, "tell me what's been up with her Majesty."

"Hrm." Alistair frowned. "I don't know how much I really know. She got sick a few weeks ago, but it seemed like just a normal cold. She had a cough, was tired and achy, that sort of thing. It seemed like she'd gotten better, but she's apparently been hiding that she was still feeling run-down."

"I see. So just a general sense of lethargy. What about her mental faculties? Any confusion or trouble remembering things?"

"I haven't seen anything like that."

"All right. Is she experiencing any other odd behavior or mood swings?"

"Not that I've noticed. Well, not really."

"Not really?"

"She's been, er, a little…clingy."

"I see. Well, understandable if she's been sick. That doesn't seem very odd. What about appetite? Has she been eating normally?"

Alistair thought, trying to recall all the meals he'd eaten with his wife in recent weeks. "I suppose. Maybe a little less than usual, but I attributed that to her being sick." A frown pulled the corners of his mouth down. "No, that's not quite right. She's been skipping breakfast. It didn't occur to me until just now. Dinner's been fine, but she hasn't been joining me in the mornings."

The thoughtful hum from Anders made him fix the mage with a pointed look. "Is that important?"

"It might be, it might not be. You said she's been tired. Has she just been sleeping through breakfast and then eating when she gets up?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask Erlina. Bre and I often go our own separate ways during the day, so I don't really know. Do you think it's just that?"

Anders nodded. "It could be. Just making sure things aren't wildly different. I'll check with your queen's maid after I examine her. Ah, here we are."

They arrived at the doors to Alistair and Breonna's private suite and a guard opened and held a door for them, closing it behind them once they entered. Alistair walked straight to their bedroom, Anders following close behind.

Breonna was propped up in bed when they entered. An open book in her lap lay in her lap, but she wasn't reading it. Instead, she was looking out the window on the far side of the room, drumming her fingers on the duvet. One look at her mutinous face told Alistair she wasn't any happier about being confined to bed rest now than when he first imposed it. That she was still in bed, however, and not actually up and about, said more clearly than words how she really was feeling.

"Ah, your Majesty," came Anders's smooth voice from behind him. "You're looking as lovely as ever."

Breonna's lips twitched slightly. "You know, Anders, it's not like I'm going to have your head if you don't flatter me. I'm well aware of how not-lovely I look at the moment. And call me Breonna, please."

"Nonsense, and with pleasure." Anders moved forward, past Alistair, and dropped his pack on the bed. He seated himself on the edge of the bed, facing her. Picking up her right hand from where it lay on the bed, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Besides, only a fool would deny how beautiful you are right now. Relaxed, lying in bed…."

Alistair cleared his throat loudly and Anders swiveled around to look at him. He raised a brow. "I am right here."

"Why, so you are! And I should probably get started doing my mage-y things, shouldn't I?"

"Yes. You should."

"Right, then. Moving on." Anders turned back to Breonna. "You shouldn't feel much of anything, Breonna. I'm just going to use my magic to see what I can find, if anything." He lifted his hands to lay them on Breonna's head, but paused as Alistair moved up to the foot of the bed, crossing his arms and leaning against the bedpost. He turned around to face Alistair.

"Must you do that? It's bad enough that Anora has templar skills, but having a fully-trained templar glaring at me, a mage, as I go to lay hands on his wife and use magic on her is a bit…unsettling."

Alistair grinned wolfishly. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about that. But the sooner you're done, the sooner I stop acting like a templar."

Anders gave an annoyed huff and turned back to Breonna. Laying his hands on her head, his eyes closed and he whispered the words to the spell.

Long minutes passed as Anders continued his examination. Alistair's grin had dropped when Anders turned back around. He wasn't nearly as relaxed as he was pretending to be. He could feel the thrum of magic as Anders called forth his power and resisted the training drummed into him by over a decade of Chantry upbringing. What Anders was doing was helping his wife and smiting the mage, as cocky as he could be, wouldn't do anyone any good.

He watched Breonna as Anders continued to check her. Her eyes were trained on Anders's face as the mage moved his hands from her head to her neck. Alistair fought an instinctual, possessive urge to puul Anders away as he moved his hands lower to her chest and then her stomach and lower abdomen. But the mage remained professional, long-fingered hands resting lightly on her body without any inappropriate movements.

Finally, Anders sat back. "Hmm," he hummed slightly to himself.

"What?" Alistair asked. "What is it?"

"Well, Breonna _was_ sick. But you're right, it was a simple cold that hung on a little longer than normal. Nothing to worry about there. It's the new development that has me intrigued. If I were you, I'd run screaming back to the tower."

Breonna paled slightly, her eyes widening, and Alistair felt his gut clench with a sick feeling. He stood straight, arms falling to his side and he took a couple steps closer to Anders and Breonna. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely. "What's wrong?"

Anders's eyebrows rose and he looked thoroughly bemused at the expressions on their faces. "My goodness. You've certainly been conditioned to anticipate the worst, haven't you?"

"Anders!" The warning was clear in Alistair's voice. He was in no mood for games right now. The mage immediately looked contrite. Slightly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. No, nothing's wrong." He looked back and forth between the two of them and grinned.

"Congratulations, your Majesties. You're going to be parents."


	2. Chapter 2

There was a great deal of personal satisfaction in writing parts of this chapter, and I think it'll be obvious which parts those are. ^_^

As always, reviews greatly appreciated and enjoy!

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**Chapter Two**

Anders had slipped out of the room shortly after his shocking pronouncement, saying something about being around later for their questions, and leaving the two of them alone. Breonna lay on the bed, hands pressed to her lower abdomen, looking at Alistair in complete amazement.

Her husband was looking down at her with a stunned expression. And then, quite suddenly, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out a shaking hand and she took it, pressing it to her stomach and laying a hand over his. Underneath her hand, she could feel his fingers stroking her belly gently. His gaze was riveted to where their hands rested on her body.

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Bre," he whispered in an awed voice, "you're _pregnant_!"

It was odd that three little words could evoke such an intense reaction from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter that burst forth. Her eyes swam with sudden tears and her smile was so wide her face hurt. She lowered the hand over her mouth and still fighting back her giggles, she said, "Alistair, you're going to be a _father_!"

His laughter joined hers, free and joyous, and he slid closer to her, turning and lifting her into his lap. His arms wrapped around her, his body curled around hers like a protective shell. As his fingers brushed over the tear tracks on her face, she could feel the slight tremor in them. "This is good, right? You're happy?"

"Alistair, I'm ecstatic!" Breonna couldn't stop giggling as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her heart felt so full and tight she thought it might burst. "This…this is awesome!"

Alistair settled back against the pillows, still cradling her, her head tucked under his chin. For a long time, they couldn't really speak. Every time they tried, they kept bursting into fits of happy laughter. And he kept touching her, with soft, hesitant grazes of hands and lips, as if she were made of spun glass and the slightest bit of pressure would break her. Finally, they calmed themselves down enough to sit quietly.

"So," Alistair asked, "what now?"

"Now? Now I think we tell my mother."

Laughter erupted from Alistair again, as he, too, recalled that long ago conversation in Highever. "Mmm, that sounds like a very good idea. I think this will make me pretty popular with your mother."

"Maybe even more popular with my father. At twelve, Oren's getting a little old to be coddled like Mother wants to and she's been chewing his ear off about another grandchild. Father says he was considering getting her a puppy if she didn't drop it soon."

They shared another laugh and then Breonna, in a slightly dismayed tone, said, "Oh."

"'Oh?' 'Oh,' what? What's 'Oh?' 'Oh' sounds bad, Bre." The sudden pallor of his face and panicked tone of his voice would have been amusing if he hadn't been so clearly worried.

She turned against him, not feeling the least bit bad about letting him support her weight. "It's nothing bad. 'Oh' was just me realizing my mother's going to insist on staying with us, that's all. You worry too much."

He blew out a relieved breath and leaned his forehead against her temple before turning to nuzzle her hair. "You're worth worrying over."

Breonna leaned away from him so she could look in his face. "Tell me, do you have a book or something somewhere that gives you all those little lines?"

Brows furrowing in confusion, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"All those little lines where you manage to say the perfect thing at the perfect time and make me love you just that much more. Where _do_ you get them from? Is there some secret handbook I don't know about?"

"Uh, no, afraid not. It's all me."

She grinned. "Then maybe you should consider writing one. The royal coffers could use the profits."

"Ah, but then you'd have to share me with all the women in Thedas. Do you really want that?"

"And probably some of the men. No, I think I'll pass."

As Alistair sputtered, she reached a hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. It was slow and tender and sweet. When it ended, and they were quiet again, the silence of the room was broken by another giggle from Breonna and her breathy exclamation, "Maker, Alistair, we're going to have a _baby_!"

* * *

Like he said he would, Anders was around when they finally emerged from their rooms. He was lounging on a couch in a guest suite, laying on it with feet hooked over the edge and reading a book he held above him. He turned his head as they entered, closing the book and sitting up.

Breonna skipped across the room and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Anders!"

He laughed and returned the hug. "You're quite welcome, Breonna. But really, don't thank me. I had nothing to do with it, sad as I am to say." Gently disengaging her arms, he guided her down to the couch. He gestured for Alistair to join her and Breonna saw him give her husband a quick wink.

"Now, I can guess you probably have lots of question, but let me answer the most obvious one for you. Alistair, you can make love to your wife whenever and however you want. No need to be shy on that account, though you'll probably have to get creative in later months."

Face flaming, Breonna patted Alistair's arm as he groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Anders, can you please stop doing that?" Alistair asked in a pained voice.

"Well, I suppose I can since you asked so nicely, but I'll have you know that's the first time anyone's ever asked me to."

"Anders!"

The blond mage laughed merrily. "All right, all right, I'll stop." He seated himself in a chair opposite them and rested an ankle on a knee. "The question was bound to come up eventually and I just wanted to get it out of the way." Settling back, he folded his hands over his stomach and waited.

Alistair lowered his hands and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I want you to stay here, Anders," he said firmly.

"You mean in the palace?" Alistair nodded. "Hmm." Anders reached up, tugging at the gold hoop in his right ear and frowning. "You know, it's not that I wouldn't mind living in opulence and wealth for the next seven or eight months, but I'm really not the best one for it. I'm a damn good healer, and quite familiar with women, but when it comes down to things like pregnancies and babies, I don't actually know that much.

"If you're that concerned, and do want a mage nearby, I know one in the tower who would be an excellent choice. She received some hands on training from Wynne before…." Anders trailed off. Wynne had passed away in her sleep two years ago and Alistair had taken her death hard. Breonna leaned into Alistair's shoulder and squeezed his arm, nodding for Anders to continue.

"Anyway, she's had extensive training and she's smart. She'd be an excellent choice. I could go get her from the Circle, if you'd like. It wouldn't be any trouble."

"I'll bet," Alistair said dryly and Anders flashed him a knowing grin.

"What can I say? She comes personally recommended by yours truly."

Breonna spoke up. "You don't think the First Enchanter will mind letting her come for that long?"

Anders shook his head. "No, Irving's a good sort, and the tower isn't all that far away. If Greagoir needs assurances, I can have Anora vouch for her. He trusts her judgment. I think you'll like her, Breonna. She's a lovely young woman."

Smiling, Breonna inclined her head. "Thank you, Anders. That's quite thoughtful. What's her name?"

"Rhayne Amell. If you'd like, I can head for the tower tomorrow. You should be fine, Breonna. You've been resting plenty and you can go about your activities like normal. Just don't push anything and you'll be fine."

"All right, I think I can manage that."

Next to her, Alistair rose and extended a hand to Anders, gripping the mage's arm in a firm clasp. "Thank you, Anders. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, your Majesties. Besides," he added with a lopsided grin, "Amaranthine is close enough that I'll get to visit a lot."

* * *

While Breonna went off to write to her parents, Alistair went to his study. Closing the door behind him, he sat at his desk, producing a small key and unlocking a drawer. He opened the draw, and feeling carefully along the bottom, pressed on small section and lifted away the false bottom. From inside, he withdrew a small packet of letters. Leaning the false bottom against the desk on the floor, he laid the letters out in front of him.

Three letters, going back nearly six years. The oldest, not even addressed to him, was creased and wrinkled—for all that he had smoothed it out—and spotted and smudged with dirt and worse. He picked it up, skimming it over though he knew the words by heart.

_And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir._

_It's been five years, and you and Breonna still have no children._

_You're both still young, but it may be time to face the fact that she is barren._

_It's too important of an issue to simply deal with by not addressing it._

Alistair set that letter down, and picked up the second one. This one was addressed to him, and dated little more than a year ago. He read through it as well.

_It is a most urgent matter, Alistair, and one that needs to be dealt with soon._

_As much as you care for her, your duty to the throne to provide an heir must take precedence over any personal feelings._

_I urge you to consider this matter most carefully._

Laying that letter beside the first, he picked up the last one, the one that made him so angry that his hand shook merely holding it. It had arrived three months ago, hidden among the normal correspondence from Redcliffe.

_The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month._

_Your stubborn refusal to even discuss the matter is childish, Alistair. You have responsibilities which cannot be ignored._

_If you are worried about Teyrn Cousland's reaction, do not be. He is a staunch royalist and a sensible man. He will understand._

_I have made certain delicate inquiries. There are several daughters of the Bannorn who are young, eligible and come from the proper families._

_Please, I ask that you meet with me to discuss this as soon as possible._

Gathering up the other two letters, he refolded them all and placed them back in the drawer, replaced the drawer's false bottom and relocked it. He smiled slightly to himself as he took paper and pen from another drawer and began writing.

_Arl Eamon,_

_I ask that you come to Denerim at your earliest convenience. I feel it's time we sat down and discussed a matter of great importance to both of us…._

* * *

Arl Eamon arrived in Denerim three weeks later. Alistair wondered if the man had even bothered explaining to his seneschal what he wanted done before packing his bags and heading for the capital. As the carriage pulled up in the courtyard, Alistair waited at the top of the steps with Breonna at his side. The Couslands were waiting until after all of the harvest was over in Highever, and then they would be spending the winter in Denerim. So for now, Eamon was the first visitor to the palace who would be learning of her condition.

Alistair had managed to elicit the promise from Breonna to let him tell Eamon. Couching it as a desire to be the one to tell his former foster father had worked. So now they stood, side by side, as the Arl of Redcliffe mounted the palace steps. The older man bowed formally before his monarchs. Then Alistair stepped forward, clasping Eamon's arm with a show of joviality. Eamon caught Alistair's eye with a knowing look, and Alistair forced himself to nod faintly, keeping his smile in place and not letting his inner anger show through. He stepped back as Breonna stepped forward, extending her hands. Eamon brought them to his lips and inquired after her health, compliments falling easily from his mouth. Alistair looked for at least a brief flicker of guilt in the other man's face and finding none, wondered privately at the man's ability to appear so friendly when he was planning on having her removed from her throne in disgrace.

After a few minutes of pleasant chit chat, Alistair placed a hand on Breonna's back and guided her inside, Eamon falling into step beside them. After taking some refreshments, Alistair leaned towards his wife. "Breonna, dear, would you mind if Eamon and I excused ourselves? We have some things to discuss."

Breonna smiled at him. "Of course not. I think I might walk the gardens. It's lovely outside and I'd like to enjoy some fresh air before it gets too cold."

Rising, Alistair bent to drop a brief kiss across her cheek. "Wear a cloak," he murmured in her ear. "I don't want you taking a chill." She nodded and rose herself, smoothing out her skirts. Pregnancy had made her remarkably sanguine about following certain orders. Alistair escorted her to the door, watching as she started down the hall to their rooms and then gestured for Eamon to follow him.

They went to Alistair study and Alistair locked the door once they were inside, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed. "Please, Eamon, sit," he said, gesturing to a chair before his desk. "Wine?" he asked, moving to a sideboard and holding up a decanter.

"Yes, please, Alistair. Thank you."

Alistair poured them each a goblet and then handed Eamon's to him. The older man took a sip and sighed in appreciation as Alistair sat at his desk. He took another sip and set the goblet down, moving forward in his seat.

"Now, Alistair," he began, "I'm glad you invited me. There's a lot that will need to be done. I'd like to—"

Holding up a hand, Alistair stopped him. "Eamon, please, before we begin, I have something I'd like to discuss with you. It shouldn't take long, but I feel it's imperative that we get it out of the way first."

Eamon frowned. "Alistair, really, I don't think we should delay. Coming to a decision of this magnitude is critically important and everything must be planned very carefully." Alistair kept his face impassive and Eamon shrugged. "As you wish. What did you wish to talk about first?"

Opening a draw, Alistair removed the packet of letters. Earlier that morning, he'd retrieved them from the secret compartment. He was rigorous in making sure Bre never saw them, and after today he intended to burn them. Breonna had a sharp political mind, and he knew even she would see the truth in some of what Eamon had written. That being the case, she would still be hurt, and deeply so. Alistair loved her, and was going to make damned sure she never had to go through pain like that.

Keeping the oldest letter, the one to Cailan, to himself, he pushed the other two across the desk to Eamon. The arl looked at them, frowning, before looking back up at Alistair. "I must confess I don't quite understand the point of this. Is this not what I'm here to talk about?"

Alistair flicked the last letter across to Eamon, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands in front of him. Eamon's eyes widened slightly as he looked at the last letter and Alistair saw his throat convulse in a swallow. From his reaction, it was obvious Eamon didn't know Alistair had the letter or knew about his earlier attempts to get Cailan to put Breonna aside.

"Why, Eamon?"

The quiet question startled Eamon and he looked up quickly. "Pardon?"

"Why have you been plotting for so long to get Breonna off the throne?" His voice remained low, but tinged with a quiet anger, a hint of steel and threat in the words.

"Alistair—"

"Your Majesty."

"What?"

"I think, for now, you should refer to me by my title because that's what I'm addressing you as: your king."

"Uh, yes, your Majesty. Of course."

"Don't forget, my lord, that you're the one who wanted my backside planted on that fancy chair in the throne room. Now, let me explain to you exactly what's going to happen." He gestured to the letters. "Once we're done here, I'm going to destroy those letters. So let me make myself very clear. I don't _ever_ want to see another one from you again. I don't want you to ever mention this to me again. I don't want you talking about this to anyone else. And I especially don't want you saying anything to _my wife_."

"Your Majesty, I know—"

"No!" Alistair said vehemently, anger finally coming to the fore. "You listen to me very carefully. I _will not_ be putting aside Breonna just because you think the Theirin blood somehow imparts some magical ability to the one whose veins it runs through. Blood doesn't matter, Eamon. Had I died during the Blight, Ferelden could have hardly done better than having her as the sole ruler. And when the time comes, it won't matter if my heir has Theirin blood or not.

"I love my wife, Eamon. She's not going anywhere, not while I still have breath in my body. So this issue will never be raised again. Am I understood?"

"I understand that you care for her, your Majesty, but that cannot—"

"If I need to make this an order, I will. I consider this a threat to my queen. Don't push me, Eamon, or you'll find exactly how unpleasant I can be to people who threaten those I love." Alistair kept his tone deadly serious. He didn't like throwing his rank and power around like this, but Eamon had crossed a line. "Never. Again." Each word was accompanied by a stab of his finger against the documents. "Am I clear?"

For a moment, Alistair didn't think Eamon was going to back down. And then his shoulders slumped slightly in capitulation. "I understand, your Majesty. You have my word."

"Thank you," Alistair replied quietly. He stood, collected the letters off the desk, and threw them into the fire, watching as the parchment blackened and then caught fire, burning to ashes. When there was nothing left, he turned back to face his former guardian.

"Let me say that I do understand your concern about an heir. And to reassure you on that end, I do have some important information to give you. Breonna is with child."

Eamon's mouth fell open in surprise and then he smiled. Rising from his chair, he took a step towards Alistair. "Congratulations, Alistair."

"No, Eamon." Alistair shook his head sadly. "Don't pretend you're happy because I'm going to be a father. We both know better. Let's keep this honest between us, shall we?"

Eamon sighed. "Very well, Alistair. I suppose I can understand that. I am happy for you though. Being a father is a joy I can't begin to describe." His face twisted slightly and Alistair suddenly reminded that Eamon's own son was currently locked in a stone tower, unable to return to his home. "But I do offer my sincerest wishes for the health of Breonna and your child."

Alistair inclined his head in acceptance of the well wishes. "Thank you, Eamon. Now, why don't we go and see if Breonna is still walking the gardens. I'm sure you'd like to deliver your congratulations in person."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

In all, it took Anders almost a month and a half before he returned with Rhayne. Alistair had expected the mage to be gone about three weeks—a little more than a week's travel to and from the tower, plus a few days to put things in order before they departed. When the third week passed, he wasn't concerned. When the fourth week also ended, he began to get fidgety. By the time the fifth week passed, he was downright anxious. It should not be taking Anders this long to fetch a single mage from the tower

Breonna counseled patience and Alistair struggled to heed her advice. It was hard for him to express his concerns about her when she, the one actually carrying their child, was so calm about. He was beginning to think pregnancy had made her a little too complacent.

"Give him another week, Alistair," she said at dinner one night. "I'm sure if anything is truly wrong, either he or Irving would have sent word to us."

"Not if he doesn't know. Not if they're laying in a shallow grave somewhere," he muttered.

Breonna frowned, slim brows pulling together. "Why would you even think that? Darkspawn sightings grow more infrequent with each passing year, trade has increased and the roads and highways are well-traveled and safer than they've been in a long time. And they're both mages. Very powerful mages, I might add. What danger could they possibly encounter?"

"Templars."

"Oh," she said quietly. "But Anders is a Warden and Rhayne is coming here on official business."

"That didn't stop Rylock."

Breonna worried at her lower lip with her teeth. "Still, one more week won't make much of a difference. They're either all right and will be here eventually, or they're not and there's nothing you can do about it."

Alistair grunted, wanting to argue that point, but refraining. He agreed, reluctantly, to give Anders one more week before dispatching a swift rider to Kinloch Hold for answers.

Anders arrived with two days left before the time limit expired. He walked into the sitting room Alistair and Breonna were occupying. They were enjoying a lazy afternoon, ensconced together on a couch, reading books. Breonna was propped against his side, and Alistair was enjoying the feel of her pressed against him, one hand resting possessively on the slight swell of her belly.

"Finally!" Alistair exclaimed, he and Breonna both sitting up. "What took you so long?"

"Politics," Anders said in disgust. Alistair extended his arm and Anders grasped it in a brief greeting. He looked past Alistair to give Breonna a smile, and then beckoned through the open door. At his gesture, another mage entered the room.

"Your Majesties, might I introduce Rhayne Amell?"

She was of medium height, and her mage robes accentuated her curves. Straight black hair fell down her back, and her bright blue eyes were alert and focused. Slim eyebrows, high cheekbones and a sweetly curving mouth completed the package.

Alistair gave Anders a knowing look. "Are you sure you recommended her for her healing skills?"

"Alistair, I'm shocked!" Anders sputtered in mock indignation while Rhayne laughed merrily.

"Oh, please, Anders. Like anyone here doesn't know about you and women." She turned to Alistair and Breonna, dipping her head respectfully. "Your Majesties, I apologize for the delay. It's partly my fault. I had some things to finish up before I could leave the tower for so long. That took several days. And then once I was ready…." She cast a questioning glance at Anders, who nodded for her to go on.

"Then I had to wait for permission to leave the tower, especially for so long. Knight-Commander Greagoir's health hasn't been the best lately, so he relies heavily on his assistant—and probable replacement—a templar by the name of Cullen."

"Cullen?" Alistair asked. "Why do I know that name?" Frowning, he thought back. "Wait, wasn't he in the tower when everything happened? The one Uldred tortured?" Rhayne nodded and Alistair's frown deepened. "_He's_ Greagoir's replacement? Really? He didn't seem…."

"Stable?" Anders supplied. "Sane? With it? Present in reality? Personally, I think they all apply. And that worries me. A templar like that in charge of the tower?" He shuddered. "That doesn't bode well for the mages."

Alistair frowned. All his years of templar training had never managed to convince him that mages should be treated as they were. His brief time in the tower had only deepened his sympathy to their plight. If Cullen, as he was now, was put in charge of the tower, it would indeed be dark times for the mages.

The silent plea in both Anders's and Rhayne's eyes was clear, but he wasn't sure how much he could do. He shook his head in frustration. "I'm sorry, I truly am. I can try to help by suggesting some things, but I don't know how much weight it will carry. The chantry and the circle are in charge of the tower, and I have no authority to force changes, even as much as I think more freedom for mages would benefit everyone. Let me get some of my advisors to look into what I can do. In the meantime, if it gets really bad, I could ask Anora to increase the number of Grey Warden mages."

"She's already mentioned that," Anders replied quietly. "But we both know it's not an ideal solution." He blew out a long breath and then clapped his hands together. "Enough of this melancholy talk! I think we men should stay here and let you ladies go off to get acquainted and take care of all those female things that we have no business knowing."

Rhayne rolled her eyes, but grinned and flipped her hands in a shooing gesture. "Agreed. The bedroom would be the best place for me to examine Her Majesty."

As Breonna stood to go with Rhayne, Alistair rose as well. Looking between Breonna and Rhayne, he tried to shake his concerns off. Anders, noticing Alistair's movement, frowned. But before he could say anything, Rhayne was speaking up.

"You can come, if you wish, your Majesty," she said soothingly. "I swear to you, your wife is in no danger from me. The choice is yours, and hers, of course," she added, smiling at Breonna.

"No. No, I trust you, it's just…."

"I understand. It's hard to go against what you've been taught your entire life. Believe me, it's just as hard for me to relax around you and Anora, knowing you can render me helpless in mere seconds. Most mages wouldn't take this kind of risk, you know. It's scary for us as well."

He nodded. "I can see that," he murmured. He thought for another moment and then turned to Breonna to embrace her. After giving her a kiss, he said quietly, "I'll be right here. If you need anything…."

The answering squeeze of her arms was reassuring. "I'll scream the palace down if I need to, but I don't think I will. Have a drink with Anders. I'll be fine."

He nodded once more, kissed the top of her head and reluctantly let her go, allowing Rhayne to walk with her into the bedchamber. Only once the door between the two rooms had closed did he move, crossing to a sideboard along a wall and asking Anders what his fancy was.

* * *

Two weeks after Rhayne arrived and declared the queen and heir in perfect health, the Couslands descended on Denerim and the royal palace. If Alistair hadn't already known they were planning to stay through the winter and the spring Landsmeet, the amount of luggage they brought would have been his first clue.

Raising an eyebrow at his wife, Alistair asked, "Are they relocating?"

Breonna laughed and gave his upper arm a mock punch. "This is my _mother_ we're dealing with here. What did you think was going to happen? If Father let her, she'd probably stay here until our child reaches maturity. I love my mother, but…." She shook her head ruefully. "Luckily, my father will make sure she goes back to Highever. Eventually."

As the seneschal began directing servants, Alistair and Breonna walked down to greet the Couslands. Eleanor and Oriana descended upon Breonna with cries of delight, the air around them immediately filling with chatter. As the two older women flanked her and began steering her back into the palace, she threw him a look over her shoulder, eyes slightly panicked. He gave her a jaunty little wave and smile, knowing he would pay for it later, but unable the let the moment pass.

The three men and Oren let the women get some distance on them before following. There wasn't much discussion, what with Bryce and Fergus giving Alistair knowing grins. He couldn't help but grin back. Sharing this with family was going to be great.

Fergus stopped suddenly as they walked, turning around to stare at his son in consternation. "Oren, take Griffon to the kennels. He's not coming into the palace.'

"Oh, come on, Da!" Oren protested, wrapping an arm around the massive hound's neck. "Griff always stays in the castle at Highever!"

"The palace isn't Highever. Take that dog to the kennels. And mind your tongue."

Oren looked at his father aghast. "He's not a _dog_, he's a _mabari_!"

Fergus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "The joys of fatherhood," he muttered.

Bryce laughed. "Indeed. I still remember the time you snuck into the armory and greased the handles of all the blades. As I recall, it took you a week to get them all clean."

"Da, you _did_ that?" Oren's shocked question made Fergus groan.

"Thank you, Father. I appreciate that."

"Anytime, son. Oren's a good boy—let him keep the hound with him."

"Why don't we let Alistair decide? After all, it's his house."

Three sets of eyes focused on him and Alistair took a small step back. "I, uh…the dog can stay," he said. "I mean, the palace is big enough that you could probably put a whole pack in there and we'd never know."

Oren whooped with joy and took off into the palace with Griffon racing ahead of him. The look Fergus shot Alistair indicated he was not pleased with his answer. Alistair spread his hands and shrugged. "Hey, what can I say? I'm new to this fatherhood thing."

"The novelty wears off, believe me," Fergus muttered.

"No," Bryce interrupted suddenly, "it doesn't." He looked at his son fondly. "No matter how much they try your patience, and believe me, you and Breonna tried my patience, there's nothing quite like being a father. Enjoy him while he's still young enough to be enjoyed, Fergus. You'll miss this when it's gone."

Bryce looked at Alistair. "And you do the same when yours arrives. They grow up too fast as it is." The teyrn's eyes grew hazy for a moment, no doubt falling back into memories, and then he shook his head. "We'd best catch up to the ladies. I'm sure they'll have lots for us to do. Speaking of which, are you free tonight, Alistair?"

"As far as I know. We've basically cleared our schedule for the next week or two."

"Excellent. We'll see you later tonight then." Bryce and Fergus grinned at each other, something unspoken passing between them and it was enough to make Alistair slightly nervous as they entered the palace.

* * *

Later that evening after dinner, Bryce and Fergus entered the room where the others were relaxing.

"Pup," Bryce said to Breonna, "we're borrowing your husband for the night."

"Um…all right. What are you borrowing him for?"

Fergus grinned. "That's a secret, little sister. We'll return him in one piece, don't worry. C'mon, Alistair. Time's a-wasting!"

Eleanor and Oriana emitted long-suffering sighs, but his mother-in-law's lips twitched. "Don't worry about Breonna, Alistair. We'll keep an eye on her. You boys go have fun."

"Excellent!" Fergus grabbed Alistair's arm and urged him up. Alistair complied, a bit confused, but also curious as to what exactly the Cousland men had planned. Once back in the hallway, they found a small group of the royal guard waiting for them. The men were wearing non-descript armor. It was of high quality, but had none of the identifying marks normally found on the armor of those who guarded the monarchs. Alistair recognized it from his forays into the taverns. Captain Neale handed Alistair a cloak, a faint grin tugging up one corner of his mouth.

"I take it we're going somewhere?" he asked, settling the cloak about his shoulders as Bryce and Fergus did the same.

"Apparently, your Majesty," Neale responded dryly.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me."

"Ah, Teyrn Cousland asked that I not, ser. Something about it ruining the surprise and discretion being the better part of valor."

Alistair shot a look at the Couslands, and then turned back to his captain. "I could order you to, you know."

"Oh, come on, Alistair. Play along for now," Fergus chuckled. "I promise you, it's nothing to worry about and you'll have fun. Take the opportunity while you can. Trust us—you're going to find yourself remarkably short on free time for the next few years."

Alistair shrugged in defeat and gestured down the hall. "Lead on."

The handful of guards formed up around the nobles and led them from the palace. There were mounts waiting outside and this Alistair also recognized from his outings. Neale greatly disliked traveling with the king on foot, saying it made protecting him too difficult, and that in the event of attack, horses were much faster. Alistair smiled. As much as everyone was trying to keep it a secret, there were only so many places he could go at this time of night and in this particular manner. He smiled and shook his head. Let them have their fun at being sneaky and he would play along.

When the party turned towards the Market District and they drew up to the Gnawed Noble, his smile grew wider. If nothing else, this promised to be a night filled with better entertainment and spirits than his usual forays into the lower class taverns held. One of the guards took care of the horses while the others dismounted and led the nobles into the tavern. The barkeep looked up as they entered and he hurried over.

"I trust everything is all arranged?" Bryce asked him.

"Yes, my lord, just as you requested. If you'll follow me…." He turned and they followed him to a private room in the back of the tavern. As they got closer, Alistair could hear the sound of voices coming from behind the closed door and his brow furrowed as he wondered what exactly Bryce and Fergus had planned for tonight.

As they opened the door, the occupants in the room quieted to see who was arriving. When Alistair followed in behind Bryce and Fergus, a raucous cheer went up and he was stunned by the scene that greeted him.

He instantly recognized most of the faces scattered around the room, some that he hadn't seen in years and that he wasn't expecting to see.

Anora was the first to come over to him. For once, she wasn't dressed in armor. Instead, she wore a soft, dark blue shirt, tailored leather breeches and knee high boots. Her hair was down and she was grinning broadly, her bright blue eyes sparkling. Alistair didn't think he'd ever seen her this relaxed and happy, and found himself thinking that it really suited her. Whatever she was up to in Amaranthine, he was glad it agreed with her so well.

She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug and he returned it gladly. As close as Amaranthine was, their various duties kept them from seeing each other too often. There were the Landsmeets, but they were so busy that it hardly counted.

"Congratulations, Alistair," she said. "I'm so happy for you." She stepped back and looked him over. "You look really, really good. I assume you're excited?"

"I'm thrilled. It's…not something I was expecting, but I couldn't ask for more."

"Good." Anora gave him another squeeze. "You deserve this, Alistair," she whispered in his ear. "Of all people, you deserve this."

Alistair swallowed hard. "Thank you."

With one last squeeze, Anora stepped back and Alistair found his arms full of red-headed Orlesian.

"Leliana, I thought you were doing research on the ashes?"

"I was. But do you really think I would miss this? Come now, Alistair, surely you know better than that. I would not miss this for anything! And you must invite me to the palace. I haven't had a chance to get to know Breonna since the only time we met were those unfortunate few days before the Landsmeet."

As she talked, Leliana pulled him across the room and pushed him into a chair at a large table. Teagan, whom he'd always been fond of, was already seated there, his arm around a pretty, red-haired elf. He raised his goblet in greeting. Bryce and Fergus also sat down and one of the barmaids placed tankards of ale in front of them. Leliana perched on a chair next to his and the talk in the room picked back up.

Anders had made the first of his return trips to Vigil's Keep and Anora had obviously come back down with him, and brought several of her Wardens with her. Along with Anders, Nathaniel and Oghren were present. Alistair didn't know Nathaniel very well, but he didn't think the rogue was here for him necessarily. Judging from the way Anora was currently sitting in his lap, she had clearly brought him for other reasons. Alistair's mind boggled a little at that. Either Anora had really managed to loosen up in the last three years, or she was already more than a little drunk. Maybe a bit of both.

As the conversation continued, he found that he had, shockingly, missed Oghren's wildly inappropriate comments and ability to drink anyone and anything under the table. It was rather refreshing, in a way that not even the lower-class taverns he went to sometimes could match. Felsi, his wife, watched in fond amusement as Oghren's talk grew more bawdy. When the dwarf began giving Alistair tips on what to do when Breonna went into labor, she finally tried to hush him, with little success.

Alistair waved off her apologies and took another sip of his ale. He blinked down at it, fairly sure he had already finished it, but this tankard was full. Fergus raised his own tankard to him in a little salute and grinned. Ah, so that's how this night was going to go. He returned the grin and took another swallow of ale.

"Congratulations, your Majesty," an accented voice drawled in his ear, and Alistair choked on his ale. A hand pounded his back firmly while the others laughed.

"Zevran!" he gasped, wiping his eyes. "Don't do that!"

"My apologies." Zevran seated himself in an open chair, leaned back and set his feet on the table, legs crossed at the ankles.

"I thought you went back to Antiva. What are you doing in Ferelden?"

"I was…visiting, you might say. I had things to attend to."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Business or pleasure?"

"Ah, Alistair, truly, when are the two ever separate for me? Truthfully, I am here for both. Pleasure at seeing my friends again," he gestured with a hand towards Anora and the others, "and business for that's what I needed to discuss with the Warden."

Looking at the assassin warily, Alistair asked, "Crow business?"

"Naturally. Do not look so alarmed, Alistair. I was coming to assure Anora that I can guarantee there will be no more threats against either of you, or any Warden in Ferelden."

"You can guarantee that? How?"

"You and Anora are not the only ones in positions of authority." He laced his hands behind his head. "You're speaking to the new Master of the Crows."

Alistair's other eyebrow joined the first. "So first they wanted you dead and now you lead them? How did you manage that?"

"I killed a lot of people."

"Of course. How stupid of me. I suppose congratulations are in order for you as well?"

Pursing his lips in thought, Zevran tilted his head back, considering the question. "Yes, I believe so. I'd never really considered holding the position, and for all the satisfaction in attaining it, I find myself with little more freedom than I had as a simple assassin. There are benefits, obviously, but I find myself chafing at the restrictions. This is something you're probably familiar with, yes?"

The thought of the rogue who had embraced freedom so joyfully finding himself in the same position Alistair did made him chuckle ruefully. "Indeed it is. But, as you said, _benefits_."

Zevran lifted his wine glass in a toast. "Your benefits outweigh the negatives? Especially now?"

_More than I had ever dreamed possible_, he thought. _More than I had ever hoped._

"Yes," he said simply, "they do."

"Then you are a lucky man, Alistair. Time shall tell if I am so fortunate." He raised his glass again. "To your health, the health of your queen and the health of your child." The glass was drained in three long swallows.

Alistair raised his own tankard and drank. Those were definitely well wishes he could, and would, drink to.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in a progressively fuzzier blur. Alistair awoke in his own bed, morning sunlight streaming through the windows and stabbing into his eyes and brain like jagged bits of glass. The sound of something thunking down onto a hard surface made him groan and pull a pillow across his face. How much ale had he drunk and how late had he been out?

He wasn't sure exactly when the revelry came to an end. In fact, he didn't even remember in ending. There were vague recollections of ale, song and story, and then the guards helping him, Bryce and Fergus back to the palace. If he concentrated really hard, he sort of remembered singing, and shuddered. _Oh, Maker, tell me I did not wander back to the palace singing_.

The Maker didn't appear to be answering his prayer, as the functional part of his brain was gleefully telling him that, yes, he did that.

A tapping sound, muffled by the pillow, finally made him move and look around gingerly. Fresh pain made him wince and his eyes water as he lifted his head and looked for the source of the noise.

Breonna stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at him with one slippered foot tapping. She was frowning and she looked distinctly _not happy_.

"'Morning, Bre," he managed to mumble, the sound of his own voice echoing in his head like a drum.

His wife's frown only deepened and when she spoke, her voice was cutting and acerbic. "The next time my father and brother decide to take you out and get you drunk out of your mind, please ask them to have the courtesy of dunking you in a water barrel before returning you to my bed. Maker's breath, Alistair, you reek! You need to get up and have a bath before I throw up again."

Alistair sat up, holding his head gingerly. "Can I wait until the room stops spinning and isn't quite so bright?"

"Now!" she snapped. "You're lucky I didn't kick you out of bed last night. Or should I say this morning? And I promise you if you don't get moving you're not sleeping here tonight."

Inwardly cursing his in-laws—and they had to have known what Breonna's reaction was going to be—Alistair got up slowly, grabbing onto the bedpost for support as the room tilted around him. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he shuffled slowly towards the door. That was the _last time_ he was ever going to do that. It was fun at the time, but the repercussions weren't worth it.

To his surprise, he felt a slight tug on his arm. He was so used to going to the baths downstairs that he hadn't even realized the sunken stone bathtub in the bathing chamber was filled. Breonna guided him over, even supporting his weight a little bit as she helped him into the tub.

"Thanks," he said gratefully.

She huffed in annoyance. "This is the last time, believe me. If it's any consolation, my family's probably going through the same thing right now. I'll be breakfasting with my mother, Oriana and Oren when you're done."

The thought of food made his stomach clench and he moaned. Breonna gave him a tight, little smile that was remarkably vicious. "Now you know how I felt for the last two months."

And with that, she turned on her heel, shutting the door a little harder than necessary and making him flinch. Alistair leaned back in the tub and sighed.

Definitely the last time….


	4. Chapter 4

As always, the story hits smut in Chapter 4. I swear, I don't plan it that way. Really. Oh, there's also some political stuff in here. You know, because variety is good or something.

As always, dear readers, enjoy and please review!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

For the next month, life in the palace settled into an easy rhythm. Having the Couslands in residence took some getting used to. Bryce had offered to have them stay at their estate in Denerim, but both Eleanor and Breonna had quickly shot that idea down. Alistair had been a little surprised at how vehemently Breonna insisted on having her family stay in the palace until he realized she was just as nervous about having a baby as he was—if not more so—and that she drew a great deal of comfort from having her family near by.

Unlike a lot of nobles, the Couslands weren't hung up on propriety all the time, preferring more informal settings. The feeling of family Alistair had seen the first time he and Breonna went to Highever now filled the palace and it felt warmer and homey than Alistair had ever felt before. Even matters of state were often conducted before a roaring fire, sipping glasses of brandy.

The other wonderful thing about having Breonna's family around, especially Bryce, was that they brought experience and knowledge to some matters that Alistair wasn't as familiar with—an experience and knowledge that he could really use right now.

Alistair sat at the desk in his study, chewing on his lower lip as he reread the letter that had arrived yesterday from the grand cleric. He should have anticipated this and he mentally kicked himself for not doing so. The question now was how he was going to handle this situation.

"Alistair? You asked to see me?"

Bryce's voice in the door way made him look up, and he rose, beckoning his father-in-law to enter and close the door behind him.

"I did. I've…run into a slight problem and was hoping to get your thoughts before I decided anything." He held the grand cleric's letter out to the teyrn, who took it without comment.

As Bryce read, a slight frown settled on his face. He read the letter twice and then handed it back to Alistair with a nod and thoughtful look. Alistair waited as Bryce clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head in thought. Better to wait until he'd had a chance to think things through before peppering him with questions.

"She's right, you know," Bryce finally said. "People don't trust mages and the fear of blood magic is quite strong, even among the nobility, if not more so. They're more at risk and have more to lose. Having mages so close to the throne makes people…nervous."

Alistair nodded his agreement. "I know. I understand that, but…. She wants me to send both Anders and Rhayne away. I'm not doing that, Bryce. Not only do I trust them, I'm not taking any chances. They're staying."

"You know, Alistair, women across Thedas have babies every day without having a mage on hand."

For a moment, Alistair's jaw worked, struggling for the right response. "Every other woman in Thedas is not my wife. I'm not going to risk it."

Bryce grinned. "Good. So the mages stay. The question is: How do we do this without alienating the Chantry? You can't afford to do that, Alistair. It would be disastrous. If you're going to insist on having Anders and Rhayne stay, you're going to have to give Elemena some concessions. You are, however, in a unique position to understand what those concessions might be. What do you think would satisfy her?"

His templar training kept coming in handy, it seemed. Alistair dropped into his seat, gesturing for Bryce to also sit, and rubbed his eyes as he thought.

"The Chantry's bulwark against mages has always been the templars. Their abilities are effective against all types of magic, even blood magic. There's a reason why templars outnumber mages in the tower by nearly two-to-one. I suppose…. I suppose I could allow templars into the palace. A few at least. Enough to reassure everyone that any "nefarious magic" will quickly be neutralized in the event that anything goes wrong.

"But, Maker, Bryce, I don't like it. It feels like I don't trust Anders if I do that. And Rhayne also, but with Anders especially."

"You don't think they'll understand?"

"I'm fairly sure they will, but you don't understand." Memories of Alistair's brief time in the tower came back to him vividly, as did the stories Anders had told.

"You don't know what it's like for them in the tower. They're watched constantly. There's no privacy and most templars aren't exactly shy about letting them know they're just waiting for them to slip up so they can run them through. Anders…didn't do so well there."

He sighed. "I don't want people I consider friends to feel like that in my home. It's not right. And I know Rhayne's here, and she'll probably be fine, but I don't want Anders to bolt."

Bryce leaned forward, resting his arms on Alistair's desk. "I can understand that, and it says much about you that you feel that way, but I don't see where you have much choice. The Chantry wields a lot of power, more than the circle, so if it comes down to it, politically you need to ally yourself with what strengthens your position the most. Especially in a case like this where supporting the mages is an unpopular move with both the nobility _and_ the people."

"I don't want to do things just because they're popular."

"No, but defying the grand cleric will only lead to the Chantry coming down harder on the mages. Look at it this way: if the grand cleric places some templars here, you earn goodwill from everyone. Wait, let me explain," Bryce said as Alistair frowned.

"The grand cleric gets what she wants—templars watching over mages and making sure they're not practicing any forbidden magic. The people are reassured that their monarchs are safe from being mind-controlled through blood magic. And the mages show that they're willing to work with the Chantry for the good of Ferelden, and that they're not to be feared. After all, if the king and queen trust them to be near them and their child, what do others have to fear?"

Alistair leaned back, humming thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. A lot of the fear comes from people simply being afraid of what they don't understand. This way, they can see that having mages around isn't something to be feared, that mages can be trusted with their power. All right. She's coming for an audience in two days. We can see how this goes over.

"And I think I'll have Anders and Rhayne there as well. I know, I know," he held up a hand. "It's likely to antagonize her, but I will talk to them first and get them to agree to the concessions. I want her to see that they're just as willing as I am to do this. And since it concerns them, it's only fair that they be there as well."

"Very well. Now have you given any thought to what happens if she rejects those terms?"

Alistair grinned wolfishly, an idea popping into his head. "Why, in that case, I think Breonna and Anora might just find themselves the best of friends. And Breonna simply must visit Vigil's Keep on a regular basis. After all, who could deny the queen her desire to see her dear friend? Also, there just might be matters of state to discuss with the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Teyrna of Gwaren."

Bryce shook his head. "She won't be pleased with that, but she can't say much about it, especially if it's to do with political matters she has no say in. But be careful, Alistair. A Fereldan king cannot afford to antagonize too many, lest he find himself suddenly short a crown, a head or both at a Landsmeet." The last part with said with a wry smile, as both men knew how contentious and spirited the Landsmeets could become. There was little chance of Alistair finding himself dethroned over this, but Bryce did have a point.

"I know. Thank you, Bryce. I'll do my best not to irritate Her Eminence…too much."

With a laugh and rueful shake of his head, Bryce rose. "I'll see that someone finds your mages for you and lets them know you need to talk to them. Best that we're all working off the same script as soon as possible."

* * *

Alistair sat on his throne, nervously drumming his fingers on the tops of his thighs. There was no reason for this particular meeting to fill him with so much anxiety—he'd faced down far worse both during the Blight and at each Landsmeet. He supposed it had to do with the last real interaction he'd had with Elemena, when Duncan was forced to conscript him into the Wardens. Then, he'd been so young, and so stunned that anyone had risked the grand cleric's fury and possible imprisonment for him.

With a start, he realized that had been almost six years ago. So long ago, yet it continued to stand out in his memories, even as other things blurred. Elemena was inexorably intertwined with the moment his life had changed drastically. And he shouldn't be nervous now. That moment had changed his life for the better, leading up to everything he had now. She hadn't been able to stop him then, and she wouldn't stop him now.

A hand closed over his fingers, which had continued to rap out a nervous tattoo on his legs and Alistair looked over at Breonna who sat next to him. She smiled at him and he felt himself relax.

"Sorry. Just being stupid."

She laughed gently. "It's not stupid to be nervous, and you're not the only one." She nodded her head slightly towards where Anders and Rhayne waited on one of the lower daises.

For all that they were fully outfitted with robes and staffs—and Alistair had insisted that Anders wear circle appropriate robes and not his normal ones which displayed his chest—the two mages looked as nervous as he felt. They also looked very alone as they waited, Rhayne's hand twined together with Anders's. Rhayne looked scared as well as nervous. Unlike Anders, she didn't have the protection of the Wardens to fall back on if today went very poorly. Alistair and Anders had both assured her that Anora would recruit her if it came to that, but Alistair knew Anders didn't want to risk her in the Joining.

Alistair felt for them, but he knew they were strong. They would be able to handle this.

"Maybe we should have told them that the grand cleric isn't really going to turn into a high dragon in the middle of the throne room."

Breonna snickered quietly. "And that if she did, you could handle it. Maker knows she'd probably be easier to deal with if that happened."

He grinned, the last of his tension ebbing away.

"Uh oh," Breonna murmured. "Father thinks we should stop."

He glanced over at the other lower dais where Bryce stood. He was looking at them with a raised eyebrow and Alistair immediately schooled his expression into something more suitable. This really wasn't the time to be joking around. Bryce nodded and turned back to continue conversing with his family who sat on the upper balcony nearest him.

The Couslands were there as a show of support. Bryce, as Breonna's father and the highest noble in Ferelden after Alistair, should be present for this. They had debated having Eleanor or Fergus down with him, but in the end decided it was better if it were just him.

And then the doors at the back of the room swung open and the seneschal stepped through.

"Grand Cleric Elemena to see His Majesty, King Alistair!"

The grand cleric walked through the double doors, head held high and erect and her back rigidly straight. Flanking her on each side and a pace behind were two rows of templars, resplendent in gleaming armor and richly-hued cloth. They all wore their helms, steel visors obscuring their faces and turning them into nameless, faceless weapons of the Chantry.

The members of the royal guard in the room, lining the walls at evenly spaced intervals, straightened imperceptibly as the templars passed, matching the order and precision the templars marched with. Alistair stifled a sigh. This was a deliberate challenge and everyone in the room knew it. He didn't expect Elemena to come without any templars, but in excess of two dozen was a bit much.

He remained seated as the grand cleric approached and came to a halt at the foot of the stairs leading up to the dais upon which he and Breonna were seated. Long moments of silence drew out as he waited before Elemena finally bowed stiffly, her mouth twisted in distaste.

"Your Eminence," Alistair said gravely. "You requested an audience."

"I did."

"Then please state the petition you bring before the throne."

The grand cleric's lips thinned even more—if that was possible—and her nostrils flared slightly. "Your Majesty," she began, "I come today because I am deeply concerned about the danger you have placed the Crown in."

"Oh?" Alistair asked. "Please elaborate."

"You know of what I speak. You have allowed unsupervised mages access to the royal persons. You have taken a tremendous risk in exposing yourself, your queen and your heir to blood magic."

Alistair sat up straighter in his throne. "That is a very serious charge, Your Eminence. Tell me, do you have any evidence that the two mages currently in attendance to the queen have been involved with blood magic?"

"I have been reassured by both Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving that Enchanter Rhayne Amell has no knowledge of blood magic. But who is to say what kind of magic the apostate practices?"

Pushing down the surge of anger, Alistair allowed his gaze to travel around the room before coming to rest on the grand cleric once more. "I see no apostates here."

She flung an arm out towards Anders. "The mage Anders has gone apostate from the circle seven times. Seven times! He has never shown that he understands the necessity for mages to abide by circle law and has flouted it at every opportunity. I demand that he be removed from the palace immediately."

For a moment Alistair said nothing, merely looking at the grand cleric impassively. When he spoke, his tone was cold and even. "The _Grey Warden_ Anders is the most senior Fereldan Warden behind Warden-Commander Anora and me. He has served both the Grey Wardens and Ferelden with distinction and honor. He was punished for each of his escapes from the tower and as it is done with, I consider that to have no bearing on the current discussion.

"Now, unless you have specific charges to bring against him, and the evidence to support them, this matter is closed." He waited a moment for her to speak. When she did not, he nodded and continued. "I am satisfied that neither of the mages attending the queen is a blood mage or knows blood magic. Is there another matter you would like to address?"

Elemena took a deep steadying breath, obviously not pleased that her first tactic hadn't worked. "Your Majesty, I am but a humble servant of the Maker and His Bride. I have given my life in service to Him and His children. The Chant of Light teaches us that magic is meant to serve man and never to rule over him. I am afraid that by placing mages so close to the throne, you are risking defying that commandment. Not only that, the people will look and see their king flouting the Maker's will, and I fear what impact that might have for the crown."

_You mean that if I don't do what you say, you'll tell everyone that and attempt to turn them against me_, Alistair fumed silently. Suddenly very grateful he and Bryce had worked out a way to head this off, he leaned back, pretending to consider her words.

"Your argument has merit."

Elemena had opened her mouth to argue and realizing that Alistair had agreed with her, was rendered momentarily speechless, the click of her teeth meeting audible even to him.

Alistair held up a hand. "Now, I do not say that because I believe it, I say it because I understand how the faithful may look upon and misunderstand the situation. I place the health and safety of my queen and heir above any ignorance on the part of others, but I understand your concerns. I trust the mages implicitly, but I'm willing to make concessions so that you and all Fereldan citizens need not fear for our safety.

"I will permit some templars to be stationed within the palace as a precaution, but they will not be guarding the mages. The templars are here to watch over _us_, not Anders and Rhayne. When they are own their own, they will not be followed and watched by the templars. Is that satisfactory?"

It was the grand cleric's turn to think as she absorbed his words. "Almost. I request that neither your or the queen be left alone with the mages. Whenever they are in your presence, so too shall the templars be."

He sighed. That went a little further than he wanted, but wasn't unreasonable considering the circumstances. He nodded. "Very well. I consent to that until Queen Breonna is delivered of our heir."

"I mean _whenever_ the mages are in your presence, your Majesty. _Any_ time the mages attend the queen, I insist that there be a templar present."

Everyone in the room stiffened slightly as the meaning of Elemena's words sank in. Maker's breath, she wanted a templar present even when Rhayne or Anders was examining Breonna. Alistair's hands tightened on the arms of his throne. No, there was no way he was allowing any templar, and most especially not one of the pet ones she would surely place in the palace, to be present for an examination that personal and intimate.

"Your Eminence," he said firmly, "I believe I understand what you are asking and that is not acceptable."

"Then all of your other precautions do no good. Mages cannot be allowed to have unsupervised access to either the queen or yourself."

"Luckily, we have a solution to that problem. You know, better than most, how I was raised and trained by the chantry and what I have been taught. I am a templar in all but name." Elemena's face tightened as he spoke. Clearly, she remembered that meeting with Duncan just as well as he did and her anger over it had no abated in the passing years. "As I have all of the skills a templar does, _I_ will be the one to oversee the mages on any occasion when it's not appropriate to have another templar around."

"Your Majesty, I cannot—"

"This is not negotiable, Elemena," he said, deliberately not using her title. "I have heard your petition, agreed to some of your terms and presented what I believe to be a fair and equitable solution. Take it or leave it."

Indecision warred on the grand cleric's face before she finally nodded. "Very well, I accept your terms."

Alistair turned toward the dais where Anders and Rhayne waited. "Warden Anders and Enchanter Rhayne, do these terms meet with your satisfaction?"

"Yes, your Majesty," they answered in unison.

Directing his attention to the other dais where his father-in-law waited, he asked, "Teyrn Cousland, will these terms satisfy the Bannorn?"

"Yes, I believe they will, your Majesty."

"Good, then I think that concludes our business. Thank you for calling this matter to the Crown's attention, Your Eminence."

"I was only doing my duty. Maker be with you, your Majesty."

"Maker be with you, Your Eminence."

The grand cleric gave another stiff bow and turned, walking between the rows of templars as they turned around in their places and followed her out of the throne room the same way they had entered. No doubt she would be arranging which templars would be stationed in the palace as soon as she left the room.

"Well," Anders said cheerfully, breaking the silence. "No smiting and no one sent to Aeonar—that went so much better than I expected."

The others in the room laughed, breaking the tension. Alistair rose and extended a hand to Breonna to help her rise as the Couslands came down from the balcony and everyone began filing out.

"You did wonderfully," Breonna murmured, standing on her tip toes to kiss him. "See? No reason to be nervous."

"I still would have preferred facing a dragon," he muttered and she laughed. They slipped their arms around each other and followed their family and friends out.

* * *

When Rhayne had told her that pregnancy could bring an increase in her libido, Breonna didn't think the mage truly understood what she was saying. As the months had passed, Breonna had found that she wanted Alistair so much that it was scary. They had joked about his Grey Warden appetites, but now she was coming close to matching him. No sooner had they finished making love than the need returned and she would be on him again.

At first, it had startled both of them, and they had gone to Rhayne, concerned about what such…enthusiastic romps might mean for the baby. But Rhayne had assured them that it was both perfectly normal and wouldn't harm the baby.

That knowledge had an interesting effect on Breonna. Suddenly no longer nervous or shy about her ravenous desires, she began indulging them almost whenever she felt like. The knowledge made her braver, bolder than she normally was, willing to try things she may have been reticent about in the past.

She also knew the change in her, for all that he was a gentlemen, thrilled Alistair, especially when it manifested by Breonna showing up at odd hours in his study and demanding his affections in one way or another. His only complaint was that these little sessions often resulted in him having to rewrite several documents. They quickly learned to clear his desk _before_ he bent her over it.

And then there was the incident last week when they had been interrupted by an urgent message. Stifling giggles, Breonna had slid under his desk and proceeded to fondle her husband with both hands and mouth while he spoke to the messenger.

Breonna couldn't recall Alistair ever finishing a conversation that quickly before.

And tonight they were at a state dinner for the recently arrived Orlesian ambassadors. They had come bearing gift and well wishes from Empress Celene and the festivities tonight were to honor and thank them. It was a formal affair, with all attending dressed in beautiful clothing and the food and wine excellent and abundant. Conversation flowed freely, music played softly in the background and it would likely be hours before it ended.

Breonna wanted Alistair. Now.

She started with teasing looks thrown Alistair way, looking at him meaningfully from under lowered eyelashes as she twined locks of hair around her fingers. When she had sufficiently caught his attention, she turned to taking deep breaths. Her breasts had swelled a little, especially now that Anders and Rhayne told her she was past the half-way point in her pregnancy. Being that this was a dinner for Orlesians, her gown was cut lower than normal, allowing her décolletage to swell enticingly against the tight fit of the gown before it gathered just under her bust.

Unfortunately, the ambassador seated on Alistair's other side seemed determined to hold an actual conversation with Alistair, and he kept distracting her husband's attention from her. Clearly, it was time to stop playing around.

Keeping her movements small and unobtrusive, her hand crept beneath the table and touched Alistair's knee lightly. He slid his gaze back over to her as she began to walk her finger up the length of his thigh. When she reached his hip, she turned her fingers and walked them down to the inside of his thigh and then stroked over the soft bulge beneath his breeches. A bulge that was rapidly becoming hard.

Alistair's eyes widened, his incredulous look clearly conveying that he couldn't believe she was doing this right now in a room full of nobles. She watched him fight to maintain his composure as she continued to tease him, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Finally, he grabbed her hand and firmly removed it from him. Keeping their fingers laced together to prevent her from doing it again, he leaned towards.

"Later," he whispered in her ear, and though she gave a brief pout of disappointment, the single, husky word made a shiver run up her spine.

After what seemed like an eternity, dinner was finished, the tables cleared and musicians took up livelier tunes so that the guests could dance if they desired. There would still be desserts and sweetmeats served with tea later, but for the now the guests could mingle and talk as they desired before that course was served.

Alistair stood and offered his hand to his queen. "Now," he murmured as she rose, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before tucking her hand in his elbow.

They walked to the door, Alistair stopping only to inform the guard that her Majesty needed a brief respite from the heat and noise of the room. The guard solicitously asked if they needed anything, but they demurred, saying only that she just needed some time in a quiet room to compose herself.

Alistair guided Breonna out of the crowded hall and into a mercifully empty hallway. He looked around and then walked her down the hall and opened a door to an empty receiving room. There was no lock on the door, so he simply dragged a heavy chair over, blocking the door. Satisfied they wouldn't be disturbed, or that they would at least have sufficient warning, he turned back to her.

Staring at her with hot eyes, he moved suddenly, mouth descending on hers as he pushed her against the wall. Breonna smiled in victory against his mouth as his tongue plunged in and swept the recesses of her mouth.

"You minx," he breathed as they parted, gasping. "A room full of people and you behaving like a wanton tavern wench. Unbelievable. I am shocked, shocked that the queen of Ferelden would engage in such behavior."

But his hands and body gave lie to his words, as he bunched her gown in his hands, pulling it up to her stomach and then sliding his hands around to cup her bottom. She held on to his arms, feeling his muscles flex as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist. The baby got in the way a bit, forcing her to keep only her shoulders pressed against the wall so their bodies could meet flush up against one another.

Alistair's hands were on her hips as she clung to his shoulders, grinding her against the bulge still trapped in his trousers. He groaned at the contact. Always being careful to keep her braced, he moved a hand to the ties of her smalls, tugging them and whisking the small bit of lace away. He fumbled for a minute, pushing his doublet out of the way and cursing when he couldn't manage the laces on his breeches one-handed.

As desperate as him, she reached down, trusting him not to let her fall and undid the laces for him, tugging his trousers and smallclothes down and out of the way to free him. He groaned again as she stroked him, and then pushing her hands out of the way, sheathed his length in her in one quick thrust.

He gave her a moment to adjust before withdrawing and then thrusting back in. They were both still fully clothed, unable to touch each other as they normally liked to. The only real point of contact between them was where their bodies met and Alistair's hands as they massaged her buttocks. But it was enough.

They kissed as Alistair rocked into her, moaning and gasping. Their joining was quick and hurried and made all the sweeter by the naughty frisson of the sounds of the revelers drifting through the walls. She felt Alistair's thrusts grow faster and more erratic and arched against him.

"Please," she whimpered. Alistair nodded and moved a hand to flick his fingers against her nub. She arched against him again, legs tightening to lock even more firmly around his waist. The tension was unbearable, building everywhere—along her arms and legs, along her spine, in the back of her head, and Maker help her, the soles of her feet. Alistair massaged her nub a bit more and then smothered her cries with his mouth. Breonna felt him release deep inside her, the warmth and sensation of Alistair filling her as wonderful as ever,

A few more thrusts and it was Breonna's turn to catch his cries with her mouth. For long moments, they stood braced against the wall as they caught their breath and their racing heartbeats slowed. Breonna slowly lowered her legs until her toes touched the ground and shaky leg supported her weight. Alistair let her go reluctantly, reaching down to tuck himself back into his breeches and redoing the laces.

Breonna smoothed the wrinkles in her gown as Alistair adjusted his doublet. She patted her hair, making sure it wasn't mussed too badly—it wasn't—and turned to see if Alistair was ready. He stood there, holding her smalls in one hand, his mouth pulled up to the side in a grin. She laughed and held out a hand, but he shook his head and tucked her smalls into his pocket.

"I should probably clean up…" she began and then frowned. Green eyes swept the room and then widened slightly as she realized Alistair had led them to a completely empty room with no convenient pitchers or basins of water for guests to refresh themselves with.

"What's the matter?" Alistair asked as he followed her gaze. "Oh. Um, we could go back to our rooms, if you want."

She considered this and then shook her head. "No, we've been gone long enough. We should probably get back." Breonna worried her bottom lip for a moment and then shrugged. It would be a little uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

"Let's just go back," she said.

"But won't that…be messy…?" Alistair flushed as he trailed off. For all that they did together, there were a few things that could make color rise in his cheeks and this was one of them. She knew what it would do to him—to know that his seed was still inside her when they went back to their guests, to know that it would leak slowly from her over the rest of the night, marking her as his in a room full of people even though none of them would ever know.

It would drive him mad. And tonight, when their guests had all left and he got her alone, he would show her what it had done to him.

She shivered in anticipation. It was worth a little discomfort. "My gown's heavy enough that nothing will be visible. And as for being messy? You'll just have to help me clean up later. Come," she said, taking his hand. "Let's see what the kitchens have prepared for dessert."


	5. Chapter 5

I want to take a moment and thank my readers and reviewers. Thank you! I also want to apologize to my reviewers. It's my policy to respond to most reviews and I've been very lax about doing that the last couple updates. Sorry! I appreciate it very, very much!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

By the time spring finally arrived, Breonna thought she was going to go stir-crazy. She'd been cooped up in the palace for the entire winter, and though she loved her family dearly, she was sick of constantly being asked if she was all right or if she needed anything. When her father and Fergus made preparations to return to Highever to make sure everything was running smoothly, she practically begged them to take her mother and Oriana with them. She wanted them back before the baby was born, but Maker above, she needed some time by herself.

She wasn't sure how much convincing it took, but her mother eventually agreed—grudgingly—to return to Highever, at least until the Landsmeet. Then she was planning on coming back until the baby was born. Breonna agreed readily. That would give her nearly six weeks to just be alone with Alistair.

The warmer weather also meant that she was able to go outside instead of being confined within the palace. She supposed she could have gone out, but she hadn't wanted to argue the point with Alistair. He'd been extremely solicitous of her health and comfort throughout her pregnancy, and while she loved being cared for, it was sometimes a little overbearing.

So she'd acquiesced to his unspoken requests and hadn't ventured out into the city while the streets were covered with snow and ice. Once the first thaws came, she'd started going out into the palace gardens. That had made her feel far more relaxed and content, but it still wasn't quite enough. She wanted to go out, see the city herself and maybe just indulge and do a little shopping. So a couple weeks before the Landsmeet, when the first nobles began to arrive, she made preparations to take Erlina, Rhayne—who naturally came with an ever-present templar—and a pair of handpicked body guards and go into the city.

Alistair…was not pleased with her plan.

"Bre, I don't know if that's a good idea. It could be dangerous."

"I'll be fine, Alistair. I'll have Rhayne, her pet templar, and the best the royal guard has to offer. It's not like I'm journeying across the country. I'm going out into the city for a few hours."

He frowned, drumming his fingers on his desk as he tried to think of another argument to use. Breonna's patience, more than a little frayed at this point, snapped.

"Alistair," she said testily, "I need _out_. I need to get out from within these Maker-forsaken gray walls and servants and guards and go _outside_! I want to see the people and sites of the city. I want to just walk around and say hello. And so help me, if you even think of arguing this with me, or try to keep me here, I'm going to order Anders to set your hair on fire."

His eyebrows lifted slightly at the edge her tone carried and then he laughed. He came around the desk and pulled her into the circle of his arms. "I'm sorry, love," he said. "I have been a bit of a bear about this, haven't I?"

"Just a bit."

A quick kiss was placed on the top of her head. "Then I apologize. You're right. It's not fair to ask you to be miserable when you're doing something so very important." His hand stole down to lightly caress her belly. "Just to be on the safe side, though, do you mind taking Anders, too? I would make me feel better."

"I suppose," she groused.

"Thank you, Bre."

She huffed in annoyance, but her lips twitched in a small smile. The concession, if you could call it that, was hardly a burden. And if it made Alistair more sanguine about letting her roam out and about without him and an entire battalion of guards, then all the better.

Practically skipping down the halls, she quickly gathered her friends and guards and set off.

* * *

Being out in the city was…glorious.

Not that Breonna ever went off into the city much—and definitely not to the occasional tavern like Alistair—but she hadn't realized how much she'd missed having the freedom to do so until it was gone.

By her side, Anders chuckled. "It's pretty great, isn't it?" At her curious look, he went on. "Being able to go where you want, when you want. Not having people telling you that you can't go outside. Of course, we still have our keepers, but in your case, you're lucky enough to have it in the form of a ruggedly handsome mage. Me? Not quite so lucky."

Behind them, one of the templars muttered something inaudible and Anders grinned. "Freedom!" he exclaimed, take a deep breath. "You can smell it in the air. Oooh, and sticky buns! What say we get some after we go to…? Where were we going next? The Wonders of Thedas? Ah, excellent. They have some things I wanted to pick up. Let's say we go get some lunch after going there, ladies."

The rest of the day passed in warm conversation and companionship. Shopkeepers were delighted to have the queen purchasing their wares, and the group completely lost track of time. By the time they headed back to the palace, the sun was starting to head towards the horizon.

Breonna was pleasantly tired, and more than a little achy. Anders noticed her kneading the small of her back and frowned. He reached out, touching her arm lightly, and she felt the gentle warmth of his magic flow through her, easing the strain of tired muscles.

The two templars with them immediately tensed and focused on him, but Anders just flapped a hand at them in annoyance. "I'm attending to her Majesty. So unless you'd like to explain to King Alistair why you smote his wife and one of her personal physicians, I'd suggest you both relax."

They didn't quite relax, but they didn't smite them either. Breonna imagined that behind their steel helms they were glaring daggers at Anders's cheeky smile.

Anders leaned down slightly, pitching his voice low for her ears only. "I won't admit this to your husband, Breonna, but I think we probably overdid it a little today. I want you to rest when we get back to the palace." She started to protest, but he shook his head. "I know you feel fine, and I'm not saying anything is wrong. But your body's not quite your own anymore and I should have made sure we exercised a little more caution, that's all."

Breonna sighed, but nodded. Anders was right. She should have returned to the palace a few hours ago, but she had been enjoying herself. "You're right. Next time, we won't stay out so long."

"Thank you, your Majesty," he said wryly. "I'd hate to receive a scolding, especially from a very large man who wears armor, uses a very sharp sword and can render my magic useless in about two seconds."

She grinned and patted his arm reassuringly as they walked back through the palace gates.

Once back in her rooms, she sank down gratefully onto the bed, laying back and just enjoying the softness as Erlina bustled around, putting away the few items they had carried back with them rather than having them delivered.

"Shall I have a bath drawn for you, my lady?" asked Erlina.

"Oh, yes, please. Thank you, Erlina, that would be wonderful," Breonna sighed. As her maid left to arrange the bath, Breonna sat up and went to remove her boots. She had needed Erlina's help to get them on this morning, as she couldn't reach down quite well enough to tug them on. Shoes would have been easier, but for walking through the city, boots were a necessity. Right now, she couldn't reach down to pull them off anymore, but toeing them off was well within her capability.

Placing the toes of her left boot against her right heel, she pushed, and then frowned when nothing happened. She pushed harder and still there was no real give or shift. Feeling the first flutter of worry, she tried with her other boot, still nothing.

Distressed, she realized what must have happened. She'd experienced some swelling in her feet and ankles, and both Rhayne and Anders said that was completely expected and normal. In the palace, wearing shoes or slippers, it posed no problem. But going out into the city today, with all the walking she had done, caused more swelling than she was used to. Her feet had swollen enough that now she couldn't get her boots off. She cursed herself for not realizing the ache in her feet was more than just being tired from walking around.

"Erlina, help me!" she said when her maid came back in. Breonna hurriedly explained the situation and Erlina, having better leverage, applied herself to the task. She tugged, then frowned. Grasping a boot more tightly, she tried again, twisting and turning a little trying to work the footwear off.

After a few minutes, she looked back up at a panicked Breonna. "I'm sorry, my lady. I don't think they're going to come off. We might have to cut them."

Breonna promptly burst into tears.

* * *

Erlina found Alistair as he was walking through the halls from his study to his rooms. "Ah, your Majesty, I was just looking for you. You're heading back to your rooms, no? Good. Her Majesty needs you."

Alistair hurried to bring himself even with the maid as they walked. "Needs me? Is something wrong?"

"You…might say that."

"Erlina, what happened?"

She gave a brief chuckle at his anxious question. "Nothing serious, your Majesty. We're having a bit of trouble getting her Majesty's boots off and she's a little distraught at the thought of having to cut them. I was hoping you might calm her."

"A little distraught" did not seem to quite accurately sum up Breonna's state when he entered their bedroom. She sat on the edge of their bed, blowing her nose into a handkerchief. When she looked up, her eyes were red and puffy, and upon seeing him, she immediately began crying again.

Sitting down next to her, he pulled her into his lap and she buried her face in his chest. "Hey, hey, shhh. It's okay. Erlina says you're having a problem with your boots?"

"I c-can't get them off!"

"Erlina was saying that. What happened? Your feet swelled?" She nodded. "It's not so bad, Bre. We'll just have to cut them."

"I don't want to," she sobbed.

"Well, they have to come off, love. We'll get you a new pair."

"B-But these are my favorites!"

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, Alistair rocked her soothingly. _It really isn't funny_, he told himself, even as his lips twitched. She'd taken all of the changes her body was going through in stride, but sometimes when she was having a bad day or was tired, her emotions got away from her. Clearly, that was happening now and it _wasn't_ funny.

"You're laughing at me," she accused spitefully.

"Aw, no, Bre, I'm not."

"You are! I'm fat and ugly and my boots are going to be ruined and you're laughing at me!"

He rolled his eyes and cuddled her to him closer. "You know I'm not, Breonna. You're beautiful and wonderful and I love you, swollen ankles and all. It'll pass, and when it does, you'll feel just like your old self again. And yes, your boots are going to be ruined, but I promise we'll get you another pair. A dozen pairs if you'd like."

"That'd be wasteful," she mumbled.

Alistair allowed himself a smile. She wasn't crying anymore and if she could bring herself to worry about being wasteful like that, then she was starting to feel better.

"C'mon," he said gently, "let's get these boots off and then you can have your bath and you'll feel much better."

He shifted, repositioning them so that she was laid back against the pillows and he was sitting cross-legged on the bed with her feet in his lap. He tried an experimental tug on the boots and nodded. They were indeed stuck and he would have to be very careful.

Drawing a small silverite dagger from his own boot top, he began working it through the leather carefully on the first boot. It came up about halfway on her calf, and for the most part was loose enough that he didn't worry about nicking her. As he got closer to her ankle, there was less room to work and he moved more carefully.

Thankfully, he didn't have to cut down over her foot. Once he parted the leather over her ankle, there was enough give to allow him to tug the boot off. He quickly repeated his actions on her other foot, and within minutes that one was free as well. He slid his dagger back into place and dropped the now ruined boots on the floor by the bed.

He drew her feet back into his lap and began massaging them gently. She gave an appreciative little moan.

There was silence for a few minutes, and then, "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

His mouth pulled up at one corner in a faint grin. "You didn't really yell at me. It's all right."

"I was being childish. They were just boots. I shouldn't have gotten so upset."

"Ah, but they were your _favorite_ boots. I think you're entitled."

"What? I'm having a baby so I get to act like one?"

"Hmmm, something like that. Think you're ready for your bath now?"

"Yes. If I lay here much longer, I'm liable to fall asleep." She held her arms out to him, eyes wide and her lower lip protruding in a tiny pout. "Carry me?" she asked hopefully.

He stood, bending down to lift her effortlessly into his arm. "With pleasure, my queen."

* * *

Two days later, it was Alistair out and about in Denerim. Wanting to get a little groundwork for the upcoming Landsmeet done, he was visiting with some of the nobles to discuss some of their concerns. It was very helpful to have most issues settled before the actual Landsmeet since there were always things that cropped up that took them by surprise.

For the most part, there were no terribly pressing issues. Some of the banns from the southern part of the Bannorn were still dealing with the remaining vestiges of the Blight and that was the most pressing concern. As in years passed, it appeared there would be no issue with aid from the northern part of the Bannorn to help support those whose land was still tainted.

It was also good to catch up with the nobles he liked best, such as Bryland and Sighard. They were good, solid men, well versed in the complicated dance of politics and Alistair valued their input almost as much as Bryce's.

Speaking of Bryce…. He expected him back in a couple of weeks. He was always one of the last to arrive for a Landsmeet, owing to the sheer size of his teyrnir and the amount of responsibilities that came with it. After having been gone all winter, he imagined there was a lot for the teyrn to catch up on. He might not arrive until a day or two before the Landsmeet began this spring. Alistair grinned. Eleanor would not be pleased with that.

"Flowers for your lady, milord?"

Alistair looked down from his mount to see who had spoken. A young girl, no more than ten, stood on a corner in the market, a basket of early roses at her feet. She held one aloft, to show to passersby, and smiled winningly up at him with dimpled cheeks. The tip of one delicately pointed ear poked out through her hair. She stepped forward, offering up the white bloom for his inspection.

One of his guards rode up, positioning himself between the king and the girl. "Do not approach his Majesty, girl. Step back."

Eyes wide, the girl hastily stepped back to her original position, dropping into a deep curtsy. "I'm sorry, ser, I didn't realize."

Alistair directed a long look at his guard. "Was that really necessary?"

"Your safety is our responsibility, your Majesty."

Eyebrows rising in incredulity, Alistair gestured to the girl. "She's selling roses. What's she going to do? Thrash me with the thorny end? Besides, she's a child. Unless the Crows have taken to recruiting in Ferelden, I don't think I need to worry about pint-sized assassins."

"My apologies," the guard said stiffly, and eased his mount back.

With a sigh, Alistair shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Directing his attention back to the girl, he said, "It's all right. My guards are a little overprotective sometimes."

A small smile creased the pink bow of her lips. "Some flowers for your queen, then, your Majesty?" The girl was quick, not missing an opportunity.

"Scamp," he laughed. He was about to decline, but stopped. It might be nice to bring Bre some roses. She was still a little down about her boots and they might cheer her up. Then another thought occurred to him. "Why not? Two, please."

"Just two, ser?"

"I'd hate to leave you with nothing else to sell your other customers."

Another quick grin. "Yes, ser." She crouched down beside her basket, searching through the roses before finally selecting two with large, full blooms. Snipping off a piece of ribbon from a spool within the basket, she tied them together with a neat bow and held them out to him.

He took them from her, reaching into his vest and into the pouch of money he kept there, and withdrawing two sovereigns. He leaned down, offering them to her.

"Oh, no, ser, that's far too much. And I couldn't charge _you_."

Oh, for the love of….

"What's your name?"

"Laurel, ser."

"Well, Laurel, if there's anyone in Ferelden who can afford to pay, it's me. Take it, I insist."

Worrying at her lip, she hesitated and Alistair sighed. "All right, tell you what. Are you going to be here tomorrow?" She nodded. "Okay, then consider this payment for what I'm about to ask. Tomorrow, you have two more of your best roses ready and I'll send someone to come get them. I'll still pay for the roses, but consider this something extra for your troubles. Deal?"

"Deal!" The coins were almost snatched from his hand and quickly concealed in a hidden pocket in her skirt. Alistair nodded as she dipped another curtsy and turned his mount back toward the palace.

* * *

When he found her, Bre was sitting at her desk, reading over some issues to be addressed at the Landsmeet. Being a thoroughly political animal, not being able to attend most of it left her restless and wanting to do what she could beforehand. Though he kept his hand behind his back, she didn't look up as he entered the study.

"Did your meeting with Bann Sighard go all right?"

"Yes, it went fine," he answered, crossing to her. Reaching down, he held the roses in front of her. "Surprise," he said softly.

Breonna sat up, blinking at the flowers and then looking up at him. He gestured with the roses and she took them from his hand. And, unexpectedly, tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

Oh, Maker. This was bad. Flowers weren't supposed to make women _cry_.

Crouching next to her, he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Hey, what's wrong? I thought you would like them."

She nodded and gave a watery chuckle. "I _love_ them. It's just…you've never gotten me flowers before."

"Ah, so happy tears, then?"

"Yes, very happy." A slight frown marred her brow. "Not that I want to sound ungrateful, but why two?"

"Ah, well…" He flushed slightly. "I thought one for you and one for the baby. It was just a thought, maybe a stupid one, I don't know. Was it the wrong one?"

"Oh, Alistair," she sighed, and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like them."

"I love them, really. And I love you, too."

Alistair smiled, making a mental note to definitely send someone back to the flower seller tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

So, sometimes I write stuff, leave it alone, come back to it and am shocked by what I did. This would be one of those chapters. I have no idea where it came from and so I'm going to blame Breonna and one of my friends, who shall remain nameless *coughsilentdreamercough*, as the reasons behind this chapter. I, uh, hope you enjoy it. Lord knows the characters did. ^_^

* * *

**Chapter Six**

As her pregnancy progressed and approached its final months, Alistair had taken to letting Breonna go to bed first—only joining her after he was fairly certain she would be asleep. She was having an increasingly difficult time finding a comfortable position to sleep in, and after several weeks of trying to be accommodating and understanding, they finally agreed that there was nothing wrong with letting her go to sleep by herself. It spared Alistair the guilt of lying comfortably while his wife tossed and thrashed seeking a position that would let her get some restful sleep. And it kept Breonna from taking out her frustrations on him and his ability to just slip between the sheets and fall asleep.

So when Alistair finally went to bed, he found Breonna as he had for the past couple of weeks—lying on her side, legs slightly curled and head pressed into the pillows. He smiled as he removed his clothes and put on a pair of loose trousers to sleep in. Spring was just giving way to summer, and he found it was getting to be too warm to sleep in much more.

Climbing into bed and under the thin sheet, he pressed a soft kiss to Breonna's brow, and she murmured something and turned her head more towards him. The bulk of her stomach prevented her from cuddling like she used to, but her body did shift slightly to face him better.

He lay back against the pillows. The spring Landsmeet had been a few weeks ago and he found himself going over some of the lingering issues in his mind. Breonna hadn't been very active for most of it. It was the first Landsmeet she had ever missed and he had found going through it without her slightly disconcerting. Not that he hadn't been capable of it—he had been—but he'd missed her reassuring presence by his side

Speaking of which….

Lying there, Alistair could feel the slight brush of her hand against his arm and the warm puffs of her breath on the bare skin of his shoulder. Involuntarily, he felt himself harden and bit back a groan. He and Breonna hadn't had sex for the last few weeks, and he completely understood why. She wasn't in the mood before gong to sleep, and very often in the morning now, when they had taken to making love, she was still too tired and stiff to really want to put forward the effort. He missed her, but there wasn't much he could do.

Alistair ran through a few templar mental exercises, and when that failed to quell the raging hard-on trapped in his trousers he tried counting backwards from one hundred. He got to seventy-one before he gave up and rolled onto his side. The bedside table held a few…necessities for times like this. Reaching into the drawer, he removed a small jar of warmth balm and a soft cloth. Edging away from Breonna slightly so his movements wouldn't disturb her, he flipped the sheet back and tugged his trousers down, sighing in relief as his length sprung free.

He opened the small jar and removed a bit of the balm, smoothing it between his palms, making sure his hand was evenly coated, and then took himself in hand. He moaned quietly at the contact and set an almost leisurely pace as he dragged his hand up and down the length of his manhood. It always felt a little weird to him to do this in the same bed as his sleeping wife—it's not like he was cheating, for the Maker's sake—but he had needs, and much like the bottomless pit of his stomach, they couldn't be ignored for very long.

As he stroked himself, he imagined it was Breonna's hand on him and not his own. The illusion was marred slightly by the simple fact that his own hand was far larger than hers, and there were calluses on his hand, that while providing a rather nice friction, were completely lacking on hers. Still, with his eyes closed, he could pretend. Settling into a rhythm, he let his head fall back into the pillows, hips twitching slightly. This wasn't the Chantry where a hormonal teenage templar-in-training would hurriedly jerk off silently—and guiltily—at night to relieve some of the desperate pressure in his groin. He could take his time and enjoy it.

With that in mind, he turned his head slightly. Imagining Breonna wasn't nearly as nice as watching her. He opened his eyes…

…and was greeted by a sleepy pair of green ones watching him.

With a yelp—and there was no other word for the sound that escaped from his throat—he jumped slightly, releasing his erection and held his hands up slightly, like a child caught raiding the larder admitting to his guilt. "B-Bre!" he stuttered. "I, ah…."

"I've been neglecting you," she murmured sleepily. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Bre, really. Don't worry about it."

"Mmm, I'll have to make it up to you once this one," and here she ran a gentle hand over her belly, "decides to make an appearance. But, for now, don't let me interrupt."

"Don't let you…?" Alistair looked at her puzzled for a moment. "What…oh. Oh!"

"I want to watch," she said quietly, the sleepy look in her eyes suddenly tinged with something wicked.

It was absurd, but Alistair blushed. He felt the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks and down over his chest.

"You…you want to watch?" She nodded. "I-I guess…. I've never really thought of this…." But despite the slight hesitation in his words, he reached for himself again.

He groaned again as he resumed stroking himself, and this time didn't feel the need to be quiet. He could feel her watching him as he moved and he had no words to describe the things it did to him. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes, pressing back into the pillows as he squeezed a little harder.

"What are you thinking about?" Her quiet question caused him to pause momentarily as he looked over at her. Her expression was rapt as she kept glancing down to his groin and then back up to his face.

"You," he said huskily.

She giggled. "I mean, what _exactly_ about me are you thinking about, love? And don't stop."

Biting his lip, he resumed pleasuring himself. As much as he wanted to answer, it was getting difficult to think right now. The feel of her eyes on him made it impossible to gather his thoughts. "I, uh…."

"Can I guess what you see when you close your eyes? Is it me, on my knees before you, holding you in my mouth and taking you down my throat? Or maybe one of those times you bent me over the desk in our study, your hand fisted in my hair, keeping me down?"

He shuddered. "Oh, Maker, Bre..." She was so close to him, he could feel the warmth of her body, her breath tickling his skin. So close, but not quite touching him. She shifted on the bed, drawing herself up slightly, so she was nearer to his head but still able to look down his body.

"No? Then maybe it's when I'm astride you, riding you until you're totally spent, until the thought of coming inside me one more time makes your balls ache." A strained whimper from him and the increased pace of his hand was his only response.

"Or perhaps," she whispered, breath fluttering against his ear, "it's the time you pinned me to the wall when we took a short break during that state dinner with the Orlesian ambassadors. Do you remember? You kept my smalls in your pocket and I went back to the table for dessert with your seed dripping down my thighs."

He was beyond words now, his world entirely consumed by the sound of her voice whispering erotic things in his ear and friction of his hand pumping up and down his length.

"Oh, wait, I know. It's not any of those things, is it? No, it's _you_ kneeling before _me_, your face buried between my thighs, licking and stroking until I'm screaming for release, and your hands on my belly, pressing against my skin to feel that moment when our child moves against you before you let me come."

He came right then, sounds he didn't even know he could make tearing free from his throat. His hips bucked as warm, sticky fluid landed on his stomach and chest, and his hand jerked raggedly, coaxing the last few drops of his seed from the tip of his shrinking erection.

Panting, he collapsed completely boneless into the bed. His skin was coated with a sheen of sweat, and he had never come so hard from his own touch alone. Cracking an eye, he looked over at Breonna. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, her own breath coming in little gasps.

"Holy Andraste," she moaned, "that...that was incredible. I'd imagined it, fantasized, but...Alistair..." Her voice trailed off into a whimpering little keen.

"Can you do it again?"

"Maker's breath, woman, you're going to be the death of me." For a long moment, he simply lay back on the bed, arm flung over his eyes, trying to collect himself. Then reaching over, he fumbled for the cloth. His seed was cooling on his skin and he wanted to clean it off before it got too sticky. Finally grabbing it, he started to wipe himself clean when Breonna removed it from his hand and did it for him.

Her hand shook slightly as she ran the cloth over him and her lower lip was caught between her teeth as she concentrated. All of her little signs were so easy to read now and he chuckled. She looked at him curiously.

"I think you made a mistake, love."

"I did?"

"Mmhmm." Alistair took the cloth from her hand and tossed it behind him, not caring where it landed. Gentle pressure on her shoulders had her laying back into the pillows. "You shouldn't have teased me like that. Now look what you've gone and done to yourself." He slid a hand under her night dress, running it up her thigh until he reached her sex. She gasped slightly as he lightly ran his fingers through her cleft, and he grinned triumphantly as he brought his hand out to regard the glistening moisture that now coated his fingers.

"Tell me again, that last thing you pictured me thinking about."

"I, ah…. You, kneeling in front of me…."

Alistair moved, rolling up onto his knees and moving in front of her. He caressed her legs, coaxing them up until her knees were bent and her feet were flat against the bed, and slid her night gown up baring her to the waist. Muscles trembled beneath his hands.

"Keep going," he prompted.

"Y-Your face…between m-my thi—ah!" Her words ended in a strangled cry as Alistair followed action to word. Though he did nothing more than gently nuzzle at her dark curls, she was so sensitive, so ready that that touch alone had her hands scrabbling at his head.

"And then?" His voice rumbled against her and she whined slightly. "'Uhn' is not a very good description, Bre. You'll have to be more specific than that."

"Hate…you…." she panted.

"In that case…." He made as if to pull away and her hands immediately tightened in his hair.

"Don't you dare!"

"Then finish," he growled against her wet heat. "What exactly do I do to you?"

She drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "F-First you lick me—oh, Maker!" Alistair was moving against her again, running his tongue over and through her pink folds, soft, delicate touches designed to tease her. Her sex was scorching hot and dripping and the scent of her musk was heady. He loved her like this, so consumed by her need and want that she was like clay in his hands.

Even in the throes of her passion, she was still trying to follow his order. "Then you s-stroke me…."

"With what?"

"F-Fingers." He moved back slightly and shifted a hand from her thigh. After a soft brush along her outer lips, he slowly pressed a thick finger into her tight sheath. She gasped and pressed back against him. "More," she breathed.

He obliged, pulling back slightly and working a second finger inside of her. He moved his hand in slow strokes, withdrawing completely and pushing back in as far as he could. Her body quivered around him and he _knew_ she wanted more, that she was so close that a little more stimulation would send her over the edge.

But she didn't get to come. Not just yet.

Alistair raised himself a little more, his free hand running along her thigh as his other hand kept moving within her. Before him, Breonna was flushed and gasping, her skin damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her cheeks and neck. She had cupped her full breasts while he was pleasuring her, and even now was rolling the hard points of her nipples between her fingers. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, and she was utterly beautiful.

He would never get tired of seeing her like this.

"You're gorgeous," he breathed and she opened her eyes to smile at him. "But we need one more thing before you can come."

"The baby," she panted, and he grinned. Dipping his head back between her legs to begin licking again, he withdrew his hand and placed both on the taut skin of her stomach. He rubbed gently, massaging and caressing. At this stage of her pregnancy, the baby moved a lot and he didn't expect she would have to wait long.

But the minutes ticked by as their child remained content to slumber. He chuckled as her sounds grew more frustrated and needy as Alistair continued to refuse to touch that oversensitive bundle of nerves until he felt the baby move.

"He's not cooperating tonight, love," he murmured.

"Like his father," Breonna ground out, thrashing her head against the pillows.

The tension in her voice was evident. Her body strained against his, trying desperately to find that contact she needed. Alistair didn't want her truly overexerting herself, and was about to take pity on her and give her what she needed without that last detail being fulfilled, when he felt it.

Beneath his right hand, not a movement or a kick, but a slow press against him, like a tiny little hand reaching out to touch his. For a moment, he was too stunned by the feel of it to do anything and Breonna's quickly indrawn breath told him she felt it as well. And then another gasp from her recalled him to her need and his tongue moved over her swollen nub in a flat, hard stroke.

It was enough to bring her to completion. Breonna threw her head back as she came, throat arching as she made little whimpering and keening sounds. She shuddered and cried out, tensing against him for a different reason now. He continued to touch her softly as she came back down, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her belly and thighs, his mouth dropping light kisses on the dark curls between her legs.

She sighed happily as he finally moved back up beside her, behind her this time, and pulled her against him, settling his arms between the swells of her breasts and belly. "Stubborn child," she murmured.

He laughed softly against her hair. "I hear it's a good trait to have."

"You would know," she replied, just a bit tartly. He hummed softly in agreement and moved a hand so he could cup and squeeze one of her breasts. "I'm not going to forget this, by the way. You're cruel to me."

"Cruel, am I?"

"Yes, cruel and mean and a tease and—" She broke off with a small moan and he nibbled along her neck. "—and I love it."

Her voice was getting quieter as she spoke and Alistair knew she was starting to fall asleep. He reluctantly removed his hand from her breast and mouth from her neck. She made a soft sound of discontent, but he tightened his hold on her and she settled back with a sigh and he held her like that until she drifted off completely.

When he was sure she was asleep, he slid his hand back down to her stomach. He was in awe of the little miracle within her every single day. Very soon, he was going to get to meet this little person and he absolutely could not wait. He hadn't told Bre, but the further along she got, the more he wondered about what their child would be like.

More than just guessing at its sex, he wanted to know _who_ they would be. Silly things, like favorite color or food, what stories he or she would like best. How his child would laugh and smile. He was so damn impatient to know.

He was also terrified. Along side his curiosity was the fear that he would do something horribly wrong because he didn't know the first thing about being a father. He'd never even held a baby before. What if he was a horrible father? What if he wasn't good enough? The thought of failing _his child_ filled him with more dread than the thought of failing his wife or his country. Breonna and Ferelden were strong—they would be fine no matter what he did.

But a child was a different matter. He knew, better than most, how greatly children needed to be loved, knew how not having that love would affect them. In the last few years, he'd come to realize how badly he needed love and affection from others. First from Duncan and then Anora, and then Breonna after that. Even from her family, to a lesser extent.

He took a deep breath as the baby moved against his hand again. He might not know how to be a father, but if nothing else, this child would know that he was loved. No matter how poorly he did, or how much he messed up anything else, his child would know that he loved him.


	7. Chapter 7

So here it is, the last chapter of Part 3. Only two more parts to go, and they are short in comparison.

Enjoy!

Edit: New fanart for this chapter is up on my profile now.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

As the final month of Breonna's pregnancy approached, it brought with it an atmosphere filled with anticipation and curiosity. Alistair was aware of friendly wagers on not only what their heir would be, but also when he or she would arrive and what possible names might be. It made him smile. He knew _why_ so much attention was being paid, but it struck him as funny that so many should be placing so much on his child.

Fergus, Oriana and Oren had gone back to Highever after the Landsmeet, leaving only Eleanor and Bryce in Denerim. It served several purposes. Fergus would be able to manage Highever for a few months without his father's interference, Eleanor and Bryce would be there when their grandchild arrived to provide support for Breonna and him, and it took a little stress off of Breonna to have less people clustered around, waiting anxiously.

When the Couslands had come down for the Landsmeet, they brought with them several pieces of furniture—a cradle, a crib, a rocking chair and chest of drawers. They'd been in the Cousland family for generations and carried with them a great sense of both age and love. If his own family had ever had anything like these, they'd been lost to the occupation. He ran a hand over the dark wood, feeling places worn down by countless hands nurturing dozens of babies. What better way for his own child to begin their life?

Breonna had been delighted at the gift, promising that they'd be safely returned to Highever long before Oren would need them. For now, she'd placed the cradle and rocking chair in their own bedroom, putting the rest in a set of rooms next to theirs that she was turning into a nursery for the baby once he or she got a little older.

While everyone else experienced a heightening of nerves, Breonna seemed to grow calmer, more tranquil. Her earlier moods swings smoothed out, even as the baby grew and made her more ungainly and awkward, often forcing her from their bed in the middle of the night to use a chamber pot. She suffered it all with good-humor.

Today, she was in the atrium adjoining the garden, sitting on a well padded settee, drenched in the bright sunlight of early summer. A basket was next to her, colorful skeins of yarn spilling from it, and Breonna hummed softly, knitting.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The queen of Ferelden knitting booties. It might be amusing if she wasn't so obviously completely content.

"I know you're there, Alistair. If you're going to watch me, you might as well have a seat. I'm not going anywhere."

He grinned, moving into the room to sit on a bench across from her, leaning back and extending his legs, crossed at the ankles. Breonna resumed her knitting, humming softly. Alistair watched her for awhile, the warm sun and the rhythmic sound of the knitting needles making him drowsy.

A soft chuckle startled him from sleep. His wife had set her knitting back into her basket and was watching him. Sitting up, he yawned and ran a hand through his hair. "Have I been asleep long?"

"No, not too long. I didn't mean to wake you, sorry. Now I know why you do it. It's rather nice just to watch someone."

"Hmmm," he agreed sleepily. "It is. Though you're a lot nicer to look at than I am."

"I wouldn't be so sure. You have your charms, my king."

"Why, thank you." Alistair grinned at her, and the corners of her lips twitched in an answering grin. He stretched, giving another yawn. "Did you want to stay out here or…?"

The words died on his lips. The corners of her mouth still twitched, but there was something incredibly _wrong_ about it. There was no amusement in her face, and something about her expression immediately banished the last of his lethargy.

"Bre?" he asked. "Bre, are you all right?" Even as he asked, he saw her stiffen, every line of her body going rigid. He was moving then, exploding out of his seat to cross the handful of paces to get to her. She was still rigid when he got to her.

"Guards!" he yelled as he grabbed her. Almost as soon as it began, the stiffness left her and he started to let out a relieved sigh and lay her down when she began to convulse, her body bucking beneath his hands as her muscles jerked and twitched. Her eyes rolled back in her head and foam appeared at her mouth.

"Guards!" he bellowed again, trying to hold Breonna and keep her still, and fight the incredible, mind-numbing panic sweeping through him. Time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl and he was acutely aware of every twitch and jerk of the body he held. Where were the guards?

In horror, he realized Breonna's skin was taking on a bluish cast and that she _wasn't breathing_.

Guards burst into the atrium, drawing weapons as they searched for the source of trouble. Their eyes focused on the king and queen and they froze, faces pale.

"Get the mages!" Alistair screamed at them, hearing the panic in his voice, and the men at the back immediately turned, racing into the halls of the palace to find Anders and Rhayne. The others stood ineffectually, useless in this situation. A younger guard shook himself and came to kneel beside Alistair, shoving Breonna's basket of knitting on the floor and grabbing her legs. Alistair couldn't even nod his thanks, all of his attention focused on his wife. He was aware—dimly—of the sounds of shouts and running feet in the palace.

And then almost as suddenly as it began, Breonna stilled, her body going limp under their hands.

Alistair let her go, fingers frantically seeking the pulse in her throat. It was there, too fast and racing, but it was there. She drew first one breath and then another and he almost sobbed in relief. But she was so still, unconscious. He wanted to shake her, make her wake up, but was terrified doing so might make whatever was wrong with her worse.

The faint trace of magic made his senses tingle, growing stronger as it came near. Anders and Rhayne came slamming into the room, the haste spell one of them had cast causing they to come in at incredible speed.

The guard stumbled to his feet, backing away as both mages came to kneel by Breonna's side. Anders pushed Alistair over slightly, magic already flaring at his finger tips. On his other side, he could feel Rhayne doing the same.

Tense minutes passed and Alistair felt his heart sink and cold sweat break out over his body as Anders frowned deeply. As the mage stopped casting, Alistair grabbed his arm. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Anders shook his head. "I'm not sure. I want to get her somewhere we can examine her more thoroughly. Can you carry her?"

The words were barely out of his mouth before Alistair was sliding his arms underneath Breonna's knees and shoulders, lifting her and heading for the door in one motion. He cradled his wife to his chest as the group moved swiftly to the royal suite, and he tried not to think about how heavy she felt as he carried her. Heavy because she was simply a dead weight in his arms.

A _dead_ weight….

_Oh, Maker, please_, he begged silently. _Please don't take her_!

* * *

By the time they got to their rooms, Eleanor and Bryce had already arrived. They were in the sitting room, pale and worried as Alistair carried their daughter past them to lay her on the bed. Eleanor followed them in, looking at Anders. The mage frowned and then nodded. "You can stay," he said shortly. "You might be able to help. Wait outside, Alistair. We'll let you know as soon as we figure out what's going on."

"What? No! I am not leaving, Anders! I'm not—"

"Alistair." Bryce's voice was as firm as the hand that gripped his arm. "We need to let them work. They'll tell you as soon as they learn anything."

"We will, Alistair," Rhayne said gently, touching his other arm and helping Bryce to guide him from the room even as Anders's magic flared again, seeking what was wrong with Breonna. "I swear it, as soon as we know anything, we'll tell you."

Alistair swallowed hard, nodding jerkily. There was nothing he could do now but wait and pray and let the mages do their jobs. The door shut quietly behind them and he stopped, drawing a ragged breath. Bryce let go of his arm, but didn't move away, his silent presence a much needed support against the crushing fear.

There was a commotion at the door, voices raised briefly and then three of the templars stationed in the palace strode in. They looked around quickly and made for the closed bedroom door. He and Bryce both stiffened, moving to place themselves between the templars and the door.

The templars halted before them. "Move," the leader said curtly.

"No," Alistair grated right back at the man.

"We have a sacred duty to uphold and if you don't let us pass—"

"What? If I don't let you pass, what will you do?" he breathed harshly.

The man seemed taken aback, unused to such challenge to his authority.

"Get out!" Alistair snarled. "You _will not_ interrupt those mages, even if I have to cut you down myself!"

"The grand cleric will hear of this!"

"Let her! In fact, you can go tell her right now! Guards!" he called past them and the men outside in the corridor filed in. "I want these gentlemen and their other three colleagues rounded up and escorted out of the palace."

"Yes, ser!"

The templars' fists clenched in impotent fury as the guards surrounded them. Alistair stood still, glaring at them until they were gone. Then he slumped, staggering a few steps to the closet chair and dropping it heavily. The rage bled away, leaving him drained, and his hands shook as he buried his face in them. He sensed Bryce taking a seat across from him as he also sat to wait.

He could still feel magic being used in the bedroom, and no longer knew if that was a good thing or not. _Please_, he repeated in his mind. _Please_….

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, Anders and Rhayne stayed in the bedchamber, trying to figure out what was wrong with Breonna and how to fix it. Alistair was not reassured by the fact that they sent for two experienced midwives to consult with. If the mages didn't know what was wrong, then Breonna was in serious trouble.

Word filtered through the palace and it fell deathly silent, everyone within waiting anxiously for news.

Eventually, several hours after they had gone in, Anders and Rhayne, along with Eleanor and the midwives came out. Alistair shot to his feet. With a look from Anders, Rhayne gently guided Eleanor and Bryce from the room, speaking quietly. The bottom dropped out of Alistair's stomach. They weren't panicking or wildly upset, but they looked extremely worried.

"Anders, what—"

"Have a seat, Alistair," Anders said quietly, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish his question.

"I want to know what's going on!"

"And I'll tell you, but please, sit!"

There was just enough force in Anders's tone, something in the concern it carried, that Alistair dropped back down into his seat almost automatically. Anders sat opposite him, in the same chair Bryce had been in. The mage rubbed his face wearily, his skin pale, tension grooving lines in his brow and beside his mouth.

"Is she dead?" The question came out surprisingly steady, though he dreaded the answer.

Shocked, Anders jerked his head up to look at him. "No! Maker's breath, no, Alistair, I wouldn't keep that from you. Right now, she's comatose. We can't wake her."

The answer brought only scant relief, and Alistair forced himself to ask the next question. "Do you know what's wrong?"

Anders shook his head with a sigh. "No. It's not something I've ever encountered before, nor has Rhayne. It's why we called for the midwives, hoping they've seen this before. That, at least, was hopeful. They've seen it maybe a handful of times between them.

"They don't know what it is, only that it happens rarely. It…." Anders hesitated, obviously choosing his words with care. "It's very serious, Alistair, and before we do anything else, I need your permission to proceed."

"Is she going to die?"

Opening his mouth to respond, Anders stopped and then shook his head. "I don't know. It's possible, which is why we need to make a decision quickly. From what the midwives said, we need to deliver the baby as soon as possible."

"Deliver…? But it's not time, it's too early!"

"I know," Anders nodded. "I'd like to say that Breonna's far enough along that the baby has a good chance, but we don't know how this has affected it." He reached out and grasped Alistair's forearm. "But if we wait, Alistair, we _are_ going to lose both of them. The midwives were very clear about that. Until the baby is born, neither of them have any chance."

Alistair pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The last time they had encountered a problem this severe…. "What about the Ashes?"

Anders shook his head. "I'm sure they would work, but we don't have _time_, Alistair. Ideally, I'd like to begin within the hour, but I need you to give me permission."

"How? Will it hurt them?"

"No, it won't hurt them. There are certain herbs that can be used to induce or speed up labor—the midwives are quite familiar with them. Rhayne and I can use our magic to help as well. They're not in any danger from that."

Dropping his hands from his face, Alistair tilted his head back, studying the heavy beams of the ceiling. "Do it. But I want to see her first."

"Of course. I'll need some time to gather what I need. You have until then." Anders strode for the door, all business again, his task set before him and responding to the urgency of it. At the door, though, he hesitated, turning back as Alistair headed toward the bedchamber. "For what it's worth, Alistair, I'm sorry this happened."

Alistair just nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. After Anders left, he opened the door quietly, slipping into the quiet room. The curtains were drawn back, allowing sunlight and fresh air to stream in through the open windows. There were chairs around the bed that held the too-still figure upon it, but Alistair ignored these, choosing instead to sit on the edge of the bed.

Breonna lay there, looking for all the world as if she were just sleeping. She was pale, but the awful blue tinge to her skin had faded, and her breathing was even. Beneath his hand, her skin was cool, not flushed with fever or any other sign of illness.

Fingertips skimmed gently over her cheeks, her lips. Someone had removed her gown, putting her in a simple shift, leaving her arms bare. He ran his fingers down them, touching lightly, finally taking her hands in his.

"Come on, Bre, wake up," he whispered. "Please wake up. I need you here, for me, for our baby." He laid one of her hands flat on the swell of her stomach, pressing his hand over it. "Our baby is going to be born very soon and he or she is going need their mother. You have to be there for us, Bre. Wake up!"

Nothing. No sound, no movement—not even a twitch—to indicate she was even the slightest bit aware of what was going one. Alistair swallowed hard.

"You can't…you can't leave me," he said thickly. "Not yet. You're not supposed to go _first_."

Over and over he repeated his entreaties to her, begging her, ordering her to stay with him. Telling her how much he loved her, how much he needed her. The sound of quiet voices in the next room told him the others were back and he fell silent.

"Alistair," Anders's quiet voice called to him. "It's time."

He nodded, not turning around. Leaning down, he brushed Breonna's lips with his and whispered, "I love you, Bre. Come back to me."

And then Bryce was there, taking his arm and leading him from the room as the mages, Eleanor and midwives came back in. They carried lyrium potions, pouches of herbs, pitchers and buckets of clean water, and clean towels and linens. The door closed behind them and Alistair sat to await the birth of his heir, and to learn whether or not his child and his wife would live.

Anders stopped him just before he left. "We'll do everything we can to save them both, you know that," he said in a low voice. "But if we can't, Alistair, if we can only save one…."

He looked past his fellow Warden, staring into the sitting room, his throat working to find an answer. Breonna would hate him for this, he knew that without a doubt, but hate he could live with. Losing her…. He met Anders's clear brown eyes. "Save her, Anders. Do whatever you have to, but _save her_!"

* * *

The wait was the most agonizing thing Alistair had ever experienced in his life. Night fell as the hours dragged on and no word came from the room. He would occasionally feel the use of magic or hear murmured talking from within, but other than that everything was quiet.

It was clear the near silence unnerved Bryce as much as it did Alistair. His father-in-law had been through the births of both his children and his grandchild. He knew what to expect and what was happening didn't fit. He and Alistair paced by turns, walking the floor in endless circles, almost no conversation passing between them.

At some point, Erlina brought them supper, but neither touched it and it grew cold on the tray. Some time past midnight, Bryce suggested Alistair get some sleep, but he rejected the suggestion adamantly. He'd gone without sleep for longer periods of time before. And even if he had been able to sleep, he wasn't about to risk doing so while his family fought for life.

A sudden surge of magic came from within the room, voices rising with urgency to carry through the door. Alistair stopped in his tracks, focused on the door, every sense alert to the sounds and sensations coming from within. The waiting was too much! He couldn't bear being out here another moment longer. He took a step toward the door, determined to go in and find out what was going on, when a clear, high cry pierced the air.

There was a moment of silence and then the cry repeated, turning into a lusty wail. His legs failed him, dropping him to his knees on the hard stone floor. His hands shook and his breathing turned ragged. Bryce came to his side, gripping his shoulder in silent support while Alistair gathered himself.

When Alistair stopped shaking, Bryce offered him a hand up, guiding him into a chair. "Good, strong lungs," he offered quietly. "The babe sounds as healthy as any I've ever heard."

"You think it'll live?" The hope in his voice was painfully obvious, even to him.

"No one but the Maker knows for certain, son, but I think what we're hearing is a very, very good sign."

The crying quieted and Alistair tensed, but Bryce just squeezed his shoulder. "It's all right, Alistair. It's normal. Now we wait and see."

Maybe fifteen minutes later, the door to the bedroom swung upon and Eleanor came through, holding a small bundle in her arms. Her face was tired, and the fear and worry for her daughter was evident on it, but she smiled as she came towards them. She held out the bundle, placing it gently into Alistair's arms as she said, "Congratulations, Alistair, you have a daughter."

Alistair looked down at the baby in his arms. She was absolutely _tiny_. Fine, pale, downy hair covered her scalp and her face was red and scrunched up. She turned restlessly within the blankets, one tiny fist coming up to flail around her face. Without thinking, he caught it in his to prevent her from striking herself. Instinctively, her hand grasped his middle finger and he was staggered by the strength in the grip of miniature fingers that weren't even big enough to close around one of his.

She was _perfect_.

The breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding rushed out in a startled gasp. He looked up at Eleanor, aware that both she and Bryce were crying. "Breonna?" he asked.

Eleanor shook her head gently. "Still sleeping, but she's strong. A little weak from the birth, but the mages and midwives don't think it's anything unusual. Anders is hoping now that the baby's been born, that whatever is wrong might resolve itself and she'll wake in a few days."

Alistair nodded and was about to respond when his daughter began fussing, scrunching her cheeks up even more and beginning to cry.

"What do I do?" he asked helplessly.

"Here, like this…" Eleanor said, bending down and showing him how to soothe her, how to rock and shush her so that she settled back down.

They let him hold his daughter for a long time, leaving him in peace to bond with her before Eleanor finally took the baby back, saying she needed to eat. In the meantime, the midwives left and servants took the soiled linens and water from the bedroom. Rhayne left, too, leaving Anders to come speak with Alistair.

"It went all right," he said. "It was a little difficult, but there was no excessive bleeding or injury, and she's healing well. Now we wait and see. In the morning, I'll send a message to Anora, to ask her to look into getting some of the Ashes. The Chantry's finally decided to back Genitivi's work, and from what I understand, they've got the temple locked down tight. They might not grant permission for anyone, even you, to take some of the Ashes. But if anyone can get in to get another pinch, it's Anora."

"Thank you, Anders. I…. Thank you."

"I wish I could do more, Alistair. Your daughter is healthy, too. She's small, but that's to be expected with children who come early. Her heartbeat is strong and her lungs are clear. She might be small for her age for the first few years, but she's completely normal.

"Now, we all need some sleep, and that includes you. I sent Rhayne to get a few hours while I stay up in your sitting room and then we'll trade off. One of us will be nearby at all times until Breonna wakes up. Eleanor said to send you in when we were done, so let's not keep her waiting."

Anders clasped his arm once more and then left to settle himself on a couch.

In his bedroom, Eleanor sat in the rocking chair, humming softly as she held her granddaughter. She nodded at Alistair as he entered. "Make yourself comfortable and then you can hold your daughter for a little while. She's asleep and you should be."

He did, pulling off his boots and changing his clothes into a looser set. Eleanor kept her gaze focused on the baby, but there was no need. Self-consciousness was forgotten after a day and night like they'd been through.

Alistair stretched out in a chair and his mother-in-law placed his sleeping daughter back into his arms. The wrinkles in her cheeks had mostly smoothed out, leaving them round and pink and he stroked them gently, mindful of the rough callus on his fingers.

Everything they'd been through in the last day hit him and he was suddenly drained—physically, mentally and emotionally. He wanted nothing more than to hold and gaze upon his daughter, memorizing her features, but he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

Eleanor gently took the baby from him, placing her in the cradle set right near the bed. Then she helped Alistair up and walked him to the bed.

"Are you sure I should sleep here?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, Alistair. Sleeping next to Breonna won't hurt her. And who knows? Maybe the normalcy will help."

She turned down the last of the lamps as he slid under the sheet. Dawn wasn't far off and there would be enough light should any of them need it soon enough.

As he lay there, he turned on his side to face his wife. After becoming so used to seeing her pregnant, it was almost jarring how much she looked like her old self. He reached out to take her hand in his.

"You will wake up," he mumbled as sleep stole his awareness. "You have to."

* * *

Breonna was so tired.

Opening her eyes was an immense effort of will, managing only to slit them open a fraction of an inch before the bright light in the room burned them and she was forced to close them again.

She waited a few moments before trying again, taking her time so that she was able to actually look around. She was laying in bed in her bedchamber, and she frowned. How did she get here? Alistair was off to the side, sitting at a table reading something. A smile ghosted across her lips. He was so sweet to be taking over all the work while she was pregnant.

At the thought, she brought a hand up to her belly and was shocked when it fell onto her mostly flat abdomen.

_She wasn't pregnant_!

All tiredness flew away instantly as she bolted upright, panic and terror sweeping through her, both hands clutching her stomach. Alistair's head snapped up at the movement, eyes wide with shock, and then he was out of his seat, practically running to her side.

"Rhayne!" he yelled.

Breonna grabbed him as he got to the bed. "Where's my baby? Alistair, where's my baby?"

She was dimly aware of Rhayne coming into the room, leaving quickly for a moment and then reentering, a rising din from the doorway following her. Alistair pulled her against his chest and she clutched at him, practically babbling in her panic.

"Alistair, where—"

"She's fine, Bre, calm down! It's okay!" He was speaking loudly, attempting to override her hysterics.

Cool fingers touched her brow and a gentle wash of magic followed. Rhayne had slid onto the other side of the bed and was casting. Breonna's head whipped back and forth between the two, confused and unable to comprehend what was going on. Alistair was watching the mage intently.

Finally, Rhayne stopped, removing her hands and smiled at Alistair brilliantly. "She's fine."

With a low cry, Alistair pulled her against him, burying his face against her neck. He was shaking, she realized, sobbing like a child. Her own arms came up to hold him, to soothe him, even as she remained completely confused about what was going on.

Eventually, he stilled and pulled back far enough that he could wipe the moisture from his face. She took the opportunity to bring a hand up to cup his jaw. "Alistair, what's going on?" she asked desperately.

"You don't remember?" he replied hoarsely. "Nothing?" At her head shake, he nodded, and appeared to gather his thoughts.

"About a week ago, you fell ill. You had convulsions and stopped breathing and then fell into a coma. We couldn't wake you. Anders said you and the baby would've both died if she wasn't born soon, so they had to deliver you. We've been waiting for you to wake up ever since."

It was too much and her head swam with the influx of new information. She should have questions, lots of them, but only one thing stuck out and she latched onto it.

"She? It was a girl?"

Alistair smiled, sniffed, and laughed quietly. "Yes, we have a daughter. And she's fine! She's beautiful and whole and perfect, just like her mother."

"I want to see her! Right now! I want—"

"Ah, I see our patient is awake." Anders strolled into the room, grinning, and Rhayne scooted off the bed to let him take her place. He repeated the same actions Rhayne had taken and nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Excellent! Very, very good. I want to conduct a full exam later, and we'll keep watching, of course, but I think I can safely say that the danger has passed."

"Thank you, Anders," Alistair said. "You've no idea…. Thank you. Could you have Eleanor bring—"

"We're right here, Alistair," her mother said from the doorway.

Breonna looked past her husband to see her mother enter carrying something small and wrapped in blankets in her arms. She reached out, imploring, and Alistair shifted to let Eleanor in so she could hand their child to Breonna.

The moment her mother placed the baby in her arms, and as Breonna got her first look at her daughter, she was consumed by an indescribable wave of love and tenderness. Everything she had felt for her child while she was pregnant was nothing compared to the emotions she felt now. She wanted nothing more than hold this tiny girl forever, love her and protect her and give her everything.

With wondering fingers, she touched her daughter, brushing over the fine hair and chubby cheeks, the button nose and tiny bow of her mouth. The girl squirmed slightly, opening her eyes to blink at her mother. Her eyes were a muddy color, having yet to settle into what they would be as she got older.

Alistair was right. She was perfect.

"We'll have to name her," she said softly, her tone awestruck.

Her husband cleared his throat and she looked up. "I…." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I already did." His voice was quiet, apologetic, and he looked away before meeting her eyes. "We didn't know if you were ever going to wake up. Or if you did, how long it might take. I couldn't…I couldn't just leave her without a name. I wanted to wait, but….

"We can change it, if you like. I don't think anyone could fault you for doing that."

She smiled. "I think I might like to hear her name before doing that."

"Rhoswen. Our daughter's name is Rhoswen."

She turned the name over in her mind, considering it. But when she looked back down at their daughter, it didn't matter. As soon as she heard it, the name stuck and there was no other possible choice.

Leaning down, she nuzzled her daughter's nose with her own and kissed her forehead. "Hello, Rhoswen."

Then she laughed softly as the meaning of the name came to her, and she looked back up at Alistair. "It seems you've given me yet another 'white rose.'"

He smiled crookedly, and she could see that the strain and worry of the last week hadn't entirely left him yet. It would probably be awhile before they did.

"I'd like to think," he said huskily, "that this time you gave one to me."

Breonna laughed quietly, snuggling her daughter close and pulling Alistair down to kiss him.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Breonna recovered, regaining her strength from her illness and her body healing after childbirth. Fergus, Oriana and Oren arrived shortly after she woke up, relieved to find that she was well again and would survive. While Breonna had chafed at her family's earlier insistence on always being around, she reveled in it now, profoundly thankful her mother was there to help her.

Others came to visit as well, friends close to both Alistair and her. Anora, in particular seemed delighted, though Breonna that might have more to do with not having to go get some more of the Ashes.

She and Alistair learned how to care for their daughter. It took some time, but they were beginning to sort out Rhoswen's moods and what her different cries meant. It was amazing and exhausting, all at the same time.

Alistair took to fatherhood like a duck to water. He was willing to do anything and everything Rhoswen needed, never complaining when she needed a change or when she woke them in the middle of the night to nurse. He would be the one to fetch her from the cradle on those occasions, bring her to Breonna and then return her when she was full.

Breonna smiled to herself as she walked with Rhoswen held to her shoulder. The baby was sleepy and would need to be put down for a nap shortly, but she wasn't going to let her daughter go just yet. She loved these quiet moments, when it seemed that nothing else in the world existed except her and this precious miracle.

"Hey, there." She turned as Alistair entered their room, shutting the door behind him soundlessly. "Is she out yet?"

"Almost. A few more minutes, I think."

He smiled, and her breath caught at the absolute love and adoration in his face. Then he bent, brushing a light kiss across the back of Rhoswen's head. "My beautiful girls," he murmured, sliding his arms around her gently and pulling them close.

Then he looked at her, pulling her a little bit closer and she tipped her face up to meet his. They kissed, slow and gentle and with their daughter held oh-so-carefully between them.

And in that moment, there was _nothing_ else Breonna could ever ask for.


End file.
